'  liifl  111  mmmnmm 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Souls  of  Passage 


LIKK    A    VISION    OK   A   CKNTt'KY    AGO. 


SOULS 

O  F 

PASSAGE 

By 

AMELIA  E.  BARR 

Author  of  "The  Bow  of  Orange  Ribbon," 

"I,    Thou,    and    The  Other  One,"  "The 

Maid  of  Maiden  Lane,"  etc. 

With  Illustrations  by 

EMLEN  McCONNELL 


New  Tork 
>.&   Dodd,  Mead  &  Company 
1901 


Copyright,  1901, 
By  DODD,   MEAD  AND  COMPANY. 

Copyright,  1900, 

By  J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 
(In  Lippincott's  Magazine.) 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I.  PROVOST  ROBERT  MACKENZIE i 

II.  FLORA  DUNBRACK 20 

III.  AT  DUNBRACK  CASTLE 35 

IV.  EUPHAMIA  MACRAE 71 

V.  WHO  WAS  TO  BLAME? 120 

VI.  THE  INEVITABLE  QUESTION 147 

VII.  WHITHER?    WHEREFORE? 170 

VIII.  LIKE    AS    A    FATHER    PITIETH    HIS 

CHILDREN 197 

IX.  MONEY  AND  MARRIAGE 226 

X.  EUPHAMIA  MAKES  A  CONFESSION  . .  256 

XL       FAME  Is  MARRIED 280 

XII.     ALAN  AND  FLORA 302 

A  LITTLE  SEQUEL 325 


2227870 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


LIKE  A  VISION  OF  A  CENTURY  AGO,"         .        Frontispiece 

SHE   BEGAN   TO    STEP   A   STATELY   MEASURE,"            .           .  22 

'  AND  I   WILL  NEVER  FORGET   THAT  GOD  HlMSELF  WAS 

SENDING   YOU,'  " 98 

THE   CEASELESS   RAIN   SWEPT   IN  IMPETUOUS  BURSTS,"   .  IQ2 

HE   WENT   TO    HER  AND   PUT  HIS    HAND  ON  HER  SHOUL 
DER,"          238 

THEY  SANG  FROM  THE  SAME  PSALM  BOOK,"        .        .  316 


SOULS   OF   PASSAGE 

CHAPTER  I. 

PROVOST    ROBERT    MACKENZIE. 

EVERY  great  city  has  a  pronounced  individual 
ity,  a  character  which  is  its  own,  and  which  ex 
presses  its  peculiar  life  with  unmistakable  power 
and  eloquence.  Manchester  is  a  big  market-place ; 
its  whole  atmosphere  is  that  of  money  making. 
Oxford  and  St.  Andrews  exhale  a  stately,  schol 
arly,  ecclesiastical  element.  Edinburgh  is  an  epic 
in  stone ;  as  soon  as  we  enter  its  precincts,  its  ro 
mance  goes  to  our  hearts  like  wine ;  and  every  one 
who  has  been  in  Glasgow  feels  that  this  city  is  the 
palpable  incarnation  in  gray  granite  of  the  Low 
land  Scotch  character — of  its  theology,  its  pa 
triotism,  and  its  enterprise. 

To  this  trinity  of  the  religious,  commercial,  and 
national  spirit  Glasgow  owes  its  special  character ; 
and  in  its  provost,  Robert  Mackenzie,  these  three 
qualities  were  well  mingled.  Certainly  on  the  first 
day  of  the  week  the  religious  element  dominated 
him;  and  he  then  put  his  provostship  behind  his 


2  Souls  of  Passage 

eldership ;  but  for  six  days,  commerce  and  patriot 
ism  had  their  full  dues,  and  there  were  also  many 
hours  in  which  the  three  qualities  were  so  subtly 
blended  that  they  became  one.  And  in  such  hours 
Robert  Mackenzie  was  at  his  very  best. 

Personally,  he  had  a  strongly  marked  coun 
tenance,  a  commanding  stature,  a  proud  port  and 
an  authoritative  manner.  The  inner  man  in  his 
case  had  fashioned  its  bodily  semblance  with  ex 
traordinary  power  and  precision ;  and  as  he  stood 
among  his  bailies  glorifying  their  city  and  its 
evident  great  destiny,  they  were  sure  they  had 
done  well  in  selecting  him  for  their  leader. 

"We  have  made  the  river  that  made  the  city!" 
he  cried,  "  and  this  great  Glasgow  which  we  have 
builded  is  the  monument  to  our  adventurous  faith 
in  God  and  man."  And  this  recognition  of  the 
Almighty's  right  to  share  in  their  honor  and  high 
emprise  was  at  once  unanimously  applauded;  for 
though  as  Glasgow  bailies  they  were  proud  men, 
they  did  not  forget  that  Glasgow  was  a  city  of 
mortals — though  doubtless  mortals  of  a  very 
superior  order. 

Patriotism  is  not  so  easily  expressed  as  piety; 
it  requires  some  hours  of  health-drinking  and 
song-singing  to  illustrate  properly  this  national 
quality:  for  though  the  Thistle  has  worshippers 
all  over  the  world,  nowhere  do  Scotsmen  hail  it 
with  such  songs  of  praise,  or  pour  out  in  its  honor 


Provost  Robert  Mackenzie  3 

such  libations  of  toddy  as  in  this  wonderful  city 
of  the  Clyde.  So  that  it  was  growing  toward  ten 
o'clock  when  Provost  Mackenzie  and  his  friend 
Bailie  Brodie  stepped  out  of  their  handsome  din 
ing-room  into  the  wet,  dirty  streets.  They  were 
shrouded  in  yellow  vapor,  yet  still  in  touch  with  a 
sloppy  crowd  that  walked  steadily  onward  with 
out  heeding  their  surroundings. 

"There  are  no  loungers  in  Glasgow  city,"  said 
the  provost  with  an  air  of  satisfaction ;  "we  have 
none  of  our  own,  and  we  have  nothing  to  attract 
them  from  other  places." 

"They  would  get  short  quarter  while  you  rule 
St.  Mungo's  city,"  answered  Brodie;  and  then  his 
voice  became  suddenly  soft  and  glad,  and  he 
added,  "Oh,  man  Robert,  who  would  have 
thought  of  this  day,  when  we  two  laddies  slept  to 
gether  in  Maggie  Stark's  garret  ?" 

"I  thought  of  it,  Jamie.  It  was  aye  in  my  head ; 
but  for  all  that  I  looked  for  you  to  be  provost  at 
this  time ;  for  you  are  a  born  favorite,  Jamie,  and 
you  might  have  had  the  city  and  the  ruling  of  it 
for  a  word,  if  folk  had  thought  you  wanted  it." 

"I  was  better  known  and  better  judged,"  Brodie 
answered.  "How  would  I  guide  a  sedurant  of 
proud,  stiff-necked  bailies  ?  No,  no !  I  leave  ex 
altations  and  connsellings  and  rulings  to  other 
men.  The  high  hills  to  the  harts,  Robert.  I  love 
the  valleys." 


4  Souls  of  Passage 

The  provost  made  no  answer.  Those  few 
words,  "the  high  hills  to  the  harts,"  had  suddenly 
sent  him  backward  to  his  boyhood.  The  Glasgow 
nightmare  of  iron  and  coal  and  fog,  of  gray  houses 
like  tombs,  and  human  beings  like  phantoms,  all 
vanished  away.  He  saw  in  their  place  the  old 
village  of  Morandaroch  in  its  solitary  beauty  of 
sea  and  land ;  the  high,  heathery  hills  around,  and 
the  harts  moving  over  them  in  a  long,  swinging 
trot ;  and  the  big  stag  of  a  herd  lying  in  the  midst 
of  his  comrades,  his  yellow  body  glistening  in  the 
sun.  He  saw  the  little  lochs  set  like  jewels  in  the 
moorlands,  and  the  sounds  through  which 

"by  night  and  day 
The  great  sea  water  found  its  way." 

He  saw  the  guillemots  sailing  home  in  white- 
breasted  pairs;  and  the  little  Highland  cattle 
hurrying  along  the  beach,  to  luxuriate  upon  the 
seaweed,  and  the  vision  was  speechless. 

Brodie,  however,  did  not  trouble  his  friend  for 
an  answer.  He  understood  that  some  unusual 
thought  "possessed"  him ;  and  he  was  not  a  woman 
to  take  offence  at  silence,  or  to  ask  troublesome 
questions  concerning  it.  They  spoke  no  more, 
and  when  they  reached  the  handsome  house  in 
which  Mackenzie  dwelt,  they  parted  at  the  gate 
with  a  hand  grip  which  explained  nothing,  but 
which  satisfied  both.  Mackenzie  had  his  latch-key 


Provost  Robert  Mackenzie  5 

and  he  entered  his  home  without  observation.  All 
was  dark  and  silent,  but  a  little  band  of  light  com 
ing  from  under  his  chamber  door  brought  a  smile 
to  his  lips.  "Marian  is  waiting  for  me  at  any 
rate,"  and  with  the  thought  he  opened  the  door, 
and  Marian  stood  up  to  meet  him.  She  had  a 
pleasant  face,  with  a  fine  open-air  color  in  her 
cheeks ;  and  in  her  manner  and  speech  the  unmis 
takable  local  stamp.  As  a  matter  of  duty  she  had 
been  reading  her  Bible,  but  when  her  husband 
entered  she  closed  the  book  and  said  with  a  laugh : 

"My  certie !  provost,  but  you  keep  decent  hours. 
Alan  was  saying  it  would  be  midnight  ere  you  got 
through  singing  'Scots  Wha  Hae'  and  the  like  of 
it." 

"Marian,  I  can  keep  elder's  hours,*  if  I  am  pro 
vost,  and  I  would  be  glad  if  Alan  did  the  same." 

"He  was  home  so  early  to-night  that  I  be  to  ask 
him  for  pure  wonderment,  'Is  that  you,  Alan  ?'  and 
he  said,  'As  far  as  I  know  it's  myself,  mother.'  He 
is  a  mortal  queer  lad  whiles.  Then  he  got  into  a 
terrivee  with  his  Sister  Jessie  about  the  young 
minister  of  St.  John's,  and  the  way  they  argued 
about  him  was  just  incredible." 

"And  he  got  the  better  of  her  doubtless  ?" 

"Him!  He  could  as  easily  have  got  the  better 
of  the  Bass  Rock.  Jessie  is  not  a  babe  in  the 
Word.  She  knows  all  it  means,  and  all  that  it 

*Half  past  ten. 


6  Souls  of  Passage 

does  not  mean.  I  was  fairly  moidered  between 
them  and  just  at  their  merciment." 

"What  has  our  Jessie  to  do  with  the  young 
minister  at  St.  John's  ?  Is  not  the  minister  in  her 
own  kirk  good  enough  for  her  ?" 

"It  seems  not.  This  St.  John's  minister  is  a 
young  man  fairly  burning  to  show  his  light  to  the 
world.  He  talks  to  Jessie  about  Dr.  Chalmers  and 
ragged  schools,  and  all  sorts  of  societies  for  help 
ing  the  poor  to  live  without  working,  and  Jessie 
thinks  he  is  a  very  apostle.  I  can  see  well  she  is 
set  on  marrying  him,  and  advising  him,  and  so 
forth.  As  she  sits  sewing,  the  very  thoughts  flit 
o'er  her  face  and  settle  round  her  mouth.  Whiles 
she  smiles  the  least  bit  of  a  smile,  and  then  I  know 
well  she  has  made  up  her  mind  what  the  young 
man  ought  to  do  and  will  have  to  do.  And  my 
thought  is  that  he  might  as  well  buy  the  wedding 
ring.  He  is  coming  here  two  or  three  nights 
every  week,  and  I  am  not  liking  him  any  the  bet 
ter  for  it" 

"Well,  Marian,"  answered  the  provost,  "if 
Jessie  has  made  up  her  mind  to  marry  the  min 
ister  she  will  take  her  will,  and  we  may  as  well 
learn  to  thole  the  man.  You  know  it  is  not  pos 
sible  to  affront  a  minister.  And  I  can  tell  you 
that  other  folk  are  as  hard  set  as  we  are ;  there  is  a 
divinity  lad  after  little  Annie  Brodie,  and  as  far  as 
I  can  see  the  black  coats  have  their  fingers  in  every 


Provost  Robert  Mackenzie  7 

one's  pie.  But,  Marian,  you  may  still  your  heart 
with  this  thought — Jessie  will  do  no  harm  to  her 
self." 

"Alan  is  not  liking  him  at  all." 
"What  has  he  said  against  Alan?" 
"Nothing  very  bad.  He  does  not  think  Alan 
is  orthodox.  When  Jessie  said  her  brother  was  a 
good  young  man  and  would  be  glad  to  help  in  the 
new  kirk  work,  the  minister  answered  with  a 
queer  drawing  in  of  his  lips,  'No  doubt,  no  doubt ; 
but  he  deviates.'  And  Alan  was  fairly  mad  at  the 
word,  and  said  he  was  proud  of  his  'deviations' — 
mocking  the  minister  and  not  right  to  do  so,  of 
course — and  that  it  was  gey  likely  he  would  de 
viate  a  little  more,  and  the  like  of  that.  And  then 
Jessie  laying  down  the  law,  and  the  Gospel,  too— 
but  what  will  you,  Robert ;  for,  as  the  rhyme  says : 

"  'There's  nane  exempt  from  worldly  cares, 
And  few  from  some  domestic  jars ; 
And  whiles  we're  in,  and  whiles  we're  out, 
Kissing  and  quarrelling  turn  about.'  " 

"That  is  just  the  way,  Marian." 

"And  the  observe  you  made  about  disapproving 
of  a  minister  is  quite  true.  Forbye,  Jessie  is  think 
ing  heaven  and  earth  of  him,  and  we  might  disap 
prove  till  we  were  both  of  us  black  in  the  face,  and 
she  would  only  be  astonished  at  our  blindness,  and 
maybe  put  up  a  bit  prayer  in  our  behalf.  And 


8  Souls  of  Passage 

what  could  we  do  or  say  then?  A  cross  word  is 
easily  given  back,  but  a  word  or  two  of  prayer  is 
not  always  handy." 

"You  may  let  Jessie  guide  herself.  She  will 
not  go  a  step  out  of  the  way  of  the  godly  and 
the  prudent.  It  is  our  dear  lad  Alan  I  am  troubled 
at  my  heart  for.  He  is  so  good  and  so  bad. 
Whiles  he  has  more  divinity  than  any  D.D.  in  the 
Glasgow  pulpits,  and  then  again  you  would  think 
the  very  spirit  of  doubt  and  rank  impiety  had  been 
given  dominion  over  him  for  a  season.  He  is 
needing  something  we  cannot  give  him." 

"He  is  needing  no  earthly  good  thing.  Why 
are  you  troubling  yourself  about  Alan?  We'll 
say  he  is  not  all  he  should  be.  What  of  that  ?  I 
would  like  you  to  mention  to  me  a  man  who  is! 
Every  lad  that  has  the  world  and  flesh  to  fight 
needs  enough  of  the  devil  in  him  to  keep  the  devil 
out  of  him." 

"Marian,  a  shadow  of  the  bygone  came  over  me 
to-night,  and  I  saw  as  if  I  was  in  a  dwam*  the 
Highland  hills  and  the  great  North  Sea ;  and  I  am 
believing  that  a  year  up  yonder  way  would  be 
good  for  the  lad.  He  has  too  much  of  the  world 
and  of  its  men  and  women.  It  might  be  a  kind  of 
salvation  to  let  him  match  himself  with  the  men 
of  the  mountains  and  the  fishers  on  the  sea ;  with 
the  harts  on  the  hills  and  the  dumb  beasts  that 
*Trance  or  second  sight. 


Provost  Robert  Mackenzie  9 

have  a  sense  of  their  own,  and  a  very  fine  sense 
in  its  light  and  way.  It  is  forty  years  since  my 
dog  Brian  died  at  Morandaroch,  and  this  night 
the  very  creature  himself  seemed  to  be  padding  at 
my  side.  You  will  be  forced  to  say  that  love 
which  can  keep  the  grip  of  you  for  forty  years 
is  wcrth  the  having;  for  I  would  give  a  thousand 
pounds  this  night  to  have  the  honest  beast  at  my 
elbow." 

"Well,  provost,  Alan  can  have  a  dog,  or  two 
dogs,  right  here  in  Glasgow  itself — if  you  think 
there  is  salvation  in  a  dog's  love.  Keep  me, 
Robert!  What  are  you  havering  about?  If  you 
had  named  the  love  of  some  good  woman  I  could 
well  believe  you — but  dogs  and  the  like  of  them 
creatures !  Perfect  nonsense !  And  I  am  not  for 
Alan  going  to  the  Highlands.  Goodness  only 
knows  what  or  who  he  will  foregather  with  on 
the  mountains  and  on  the  water.  There's  women 
folk,  too,  wherever  you  send  him,  and  I'm  think 
ing,  if  you  will  be  honest  with  yourself  and  with 
me,  that  it  is  Flora  Dunbrack  you  are  feared  for ; 
and  that  you  are  for  sending  Alan  to  the  High 
lands  out  of  her  way — the  smatchet! — the  saucy 
little  cutty  that  she  is !" 

"Whist!  whist!  wife!  There  is  not  a  mite  of 
harm  in  the  bonnie  creature.  She  is  just  a  little 
wild  heart,  that  has  had  too  much  of  her  own 
way,  and  so  is  ill  to  guide  in  the  way  of  other 


io  Souls  of  Passage 

people.  Forbye,  she  does  not  care  a  pinhead  for 
Alan  Mackenzie.  Not  her !  She  is  aye  measuring 
him  by  some  soldier  or  woodsman  and  finding  him 
totally  and  altogether  wanting." 

"It  sets  her  to  find  Alan  Mackenzie  wanting! 
Her !  with  her  bit  fortune  of  three  hundred  a  year ! 
What  will  she  be  expecting — a  Highland  lord  or  a 
Lowland  earl  ?  I  think,  provost,  we  had  better  be 
sleeping  than  talking  nonsense  at  this  hour  of  the 
night — I  might  say  of  the  morning." 

"I  told  you,  Marian,  that  I  had  a  kind  of  dwam 
or  backsight  as  I  was  coming  home ;  and  it  has  put 
sleep  far  from  me,  and  set  some  things  in  such 
clearness  before  my  soul  that  all  the  glory  and 
honor  of  this  day  is  just  as  a  whiff  of  smoke." 

"It  was  a  great  day  for  you,  Robert,  and  a 
happy,  proud  day  for  me." 

"I  know  that,  wife ;  but  when  we  are  on  the  top 
most  peaks  of  joy  or  prosperity  we  are  often  made 
to  feel  that  their  foundation  is  deep  down  in  some 
abyss  of  sorrow  or  care ;  and  to-night  I  looked  for 
a  moment  into  one  which  made  my  soul  tremble, 
for  in  it  I  saw  as  it  were  the  shadow  of  our  dear 
Alan." 

"Robert !  Robert !  What  are  you  saying?  Now 
you  have  sent  the  sleep  far  from  me,  and  you  be 
to  tell  me  all  you  fear  and  mean.  The  lad  has  no 
outstanding  vices  that  I  know  of." 

"Nor  yet  any  outstanding  virtues.     I  wouldn't 


Provost  Robert  Mackenzie         1 1 

mind  the  vices  if  he  had  the  virtues  to  keep  them 
in  check.  He  is  so  many-sided  and  so  many- 
minded.  Of  Jessie  we  know  everything.  All  that 
Jessie  might  do  she  does.  There  is  nothing  want 
ing  and  nothing  over.  But  with  Alan  there  is  al 
ways  something  over.  You  think  he  has  said  his 
say,  and  that  he  means  what  he  says,  and  then  at 
the  last  he  will  out  with  a  few  words  that  leaves 
all  uncertain  and  unfinished — and  you  don't  know 
where  you  have  him." 

"I  am  sure  there  are  few  young  men  more  re 
ligious.  He  is  a  very  Pharisee  about  the  ordi 
nances  and  the  Sabbath  day." 

"Yes,"  answered  the  father  wearily.  "Alan  is 
of  the  religious  temperament.  But  he  has  not  a 
single  conviction  that  could  stand  a  strain.  Jessie 
would  go  to  the  stake  for  her  creed  without  a 
word.  Alan  would  argue  the  question  until  he 
was  uncertain  about  every  creed ;  and  he  can  per 
suade  most  people  of  most  things,  and  himself  of 
almost  anything.  I  heard  him  arguing  with  Mat 
thew  Laird  about  Calvinism  the  other  night  at  the 
Thistle.  He  started  out  with  an  extravagant 
praise  of  the  dogma,  of  the  fine  men  it  had  bred, 
and  the  great  deeds  it  had  done ;  and  when  the  talk 
was  over  Alan's  last  word  was,  'Well,  Matthew, 
if  Calvinism  is  what  you  say  it  is  I  think  my 
opinion  ought  to  have  been  asked  ere  I  was  sent 
into  the  world  on  any  such  like  terms,'  You  see, 


12  Souls  of  Passage 

Marian,  he  had  sailed  quite  round  the  question, 
and  he  went  off  whistling  The  Laird  o'  Cockpen.' 
What  will  you  say  to  religion  of  that  kind  ?" 

"I  say  nothing  at  all.  God  is  love,  and  I  build 
my  faith  on  that  creed.  Where  do  mothers  get 
their  love  but  from  Him?  and  I  think,  Robert,  it 
would  be  more  wise-like  and  kind-like  in  you 
sometimes  to  wink  as  well  as  to  see." 

"I  see  one  thing  clearly :  Alan  must  have  other 
surroundings,  and  as  soon  as  I  came  to  this  con 
viction  the  way  was  opened  wide  for  him.  For  a 
week  ago  I  had  a  letter  from  Peter  McDuff,  of 
Morandaroch,  and  he  tells  me  that  the  old  castle 
of  the  Dunbracks  is  for  sale,  and  at  a  bargain  past 
believing.  Colonel  MacLeod,  of  the  Indian  Ser 
vice,  bought  it  six  years  ago,  and  now  he  is  sick 
of  the  place,  and  wants  to  go  back  to  the  heat  and 
sun  of  Calcutta.  Very  well ;  Dunbrack  is  only  two 
miles  from  Morandaroch,  and  he  has  made  great 
improvements,  and  nothing  asked  for  them.  I  am 
in  a  great  mind  to  buy  it.  McDuff  says  it  is  a  fine 
estate  going  for  a  song." 

"What  would  you  do  with  an  estate  in  the 
Highlands?  You  a  Glasgow  merchant!  Thae 
proud  Highlanders  would  give  you  scorn  for  your 
friendship." 

"I  am  as  good  as  any  of  them.  If  a  poor  gentle 
man  has  to  make  money  in  trading,  that  is  not  his 
fault.  They  will  ask  whose  son  I  am,  and  when 


Provost  Robert  Mackenzie         13 

they  hear  I  am  Roderick  Mackenzie's  son,  they 
will  lift  their  bonnets  to  me  at  once.  But  I  was 
not  thinking  of  going  to  Dunbrack.  It  is  to  be 
for  you  and  for  the  children  as  a  summer  home, 
and  I  may  say  that  few  Glasgow  ladies  will  be  able 
to  even  you  in  this  respect." 

"But  it  would  be  a  poor  estate  and  a  poor  house 
wanting  yourself.  I  would  rather  bide  where  I 
could  see  you.  It  is  maybe  just  a  habit  with  me  to 
like  your  face  and  your  company,  but  that  is  my 
failing,  and  there  is  no  estate  in  Highlands  or 
Lowlands  that  could  make  up  for  that  pleasure  if 
I  had  to  want  it." 

"Your  words  are  sweet,  Marian,  and  I  am  far 
from  seeking  to  be  rid  of  your  face  and  company. 
I  thought  of  our  poor  cousin,  Thrift  Athole;  she 
will  look  after  the  young  things,  and  you  need 
not  be  too  long  away  at  any  time.  Forbye,  I 
might  make  occasion  to  run  up  there  myself  now 
and  then." 

"My  certie!  Elder  Orr's  wife  would  have  to 
sing  her  song  about  Alderswood  a  key  or  two 
lower.  If  she  can  write  herself  '  Mistress  Orr, 
Alderswood  House' — I  would  then  be — what 
would  I  be,  Robert?" 

"Mistress  Mackenzie,  Dunbrack  Castle,  Moran- 
daroch,  Rosshire." 

"I  would  just  put  the  whole  of  that  on  my  card, 
provost," 


14  Souls  of  Passage 

"And  Alan  would,  in  a  way,  own  the  hills,  and 
the  deer,  and  the  birds,  and  the  little  bay  with  the 
fishing  boats  coming  and  going,  and  the  blue  lochs 
where  the  trout  lie  hid ;  and  he  would  be  up  on  the 
hills,  and  away  on  the  sea  water,  and  so  the  smur 
of  the  market-place  and  the  spirit  of  the  Glasgow 
planestones  would  be  blown  off  his  young  soul, 
and  I  have  faith  to  believe  that  he  would  be — in  a 
way — made  o'er  again." 

"He  suits  me  well  as  he  is.  I  don't  want  him 
changed.  Why  would  I?  God  made  him,  and 
He  knows  every  slip  and  fall  the  lad  will  have  be 
fore  he  walks  in  the  right  way  without  a  stumble. 
I  trust  him  with  God." 

"If  it  was  only  in  matters  between  him  and  God, 
that  would  be  sufficient ;  but  the  lad  is  as  slippery 
and  uncertain  about  business  as  he  is  about  re 
ligion.  And  that  will  not  do.  Men  won't  put  up 
with  it.  His  ideas  about  very  important  obliga 
tions  are,  to  say  the  least,  often  loose-ended.  I 
want  to  see  if  a  different  life  will  make  a  different 
man  of  him,  and  whether  you  believe  me  or  not,  I 
will  say  this — a  wife  like  Flora  is  just  what  he 
needs.  She  is  strong  where  he  is  weak.  She  is 
wise  where  he  is  foolish.  She  is  clever  where  he 
has  not  an  ounce  of  common  sense." 

"And  she  has  a  temper  that  blazes  like  a  pine 
knot.  Alan  with  his  good  nature  would  be  at  her 
merciment.  What  do  you  say  to  that?" 


Provost  Robert  Mackenzie         15 

"I  say  that  Alan  has  his  own  temper,  and  a  very 
bad  one  it  is  at  times.  I  have  seen  him  neither  to 
hold  nor  to  bind.  Patient  enough  with  women,  of 
course,  but  if  there  is  any  kind  of  temper  to  be 
afraid  of  it  is  the  anger  of  a  patient  man.  Alan 
will  bear  and  bear,  and  then  in  a  moment — just 
for  nothing  at  all — say  or  do  what  no  one  will 
bear ;  and  then  the  mischief  and  all  to  pay.  Flora 
has  a  hot  temper,  but  she  has  it  bitted  and  bridled, 
and  ever  she  does  give  it  headway  she  will  be 
understanding  herself  the  why  and  the  where 
fore." 

"I  would  like  to  know,  once  for  all,  what  for 
you  are  so  set  up  with  that  lassie?  There  must  be 
something  behind  what  you  have  told  me,  and 
how  do  I  know  but  that  it  is  the  lassie's  mother.  I 
can  tell  you  it  is  not  a  thing  any  woman  likes  to 
have  a  full-grown  girl  dropped  into  her  home;  a 
girl,  too,  that  has  not  a  thing  in  common  with  any 
one  of  us.  Her  thoughts  and  ways  are  that  out 
landish  that  the  ladies  who  come  calling  look  at 
her  in  wonderment;  and  if  the  men  do  go  daft 
about  her  beauty,  I  think  that  is  little  to  her 
credit." 

"I  hope,  Marian,  you  will  not  count  it  to  her 
blame ;  for  what  will  you  say  then  about  your  own 
beauty,  which  bothered  the  men  not  a  little  ere  you 
chose  me  from  among  the  lave  of  your  lovers. 
And  well  you  know  there  is  no  woman  behind 


1 6  Souls  of  Passage 

Flora;  no  woman  but  yourself  ever  troubled  the 
heart  of  Robert  Mackenzie." 

"Then  tell  me  why  Colonel  Dunbrack  sent  her 
to  you,  as  if  he  had  a  kind  of  right  to  send  her — 
not  one  'If  you  please/  or  'Will  you,  for  the  sake 
of  God,  take  care  of  my  child?'  but  just,  'Dear 
Robert,  I  send  you  my  little  girl.'  What  for  did 
he  expect  you  to  take  charge  of  his  little  girl  ?" 

"I  will  tell  you,  Marian.  Angus  Dunbrack — 
Flora's  father — was  for  many  a  year  heart  of  my 
heart,  and  soul  of  my  soul.  We  were  constantly 
together ;  we  hunted  and  fished  together,  we  read 
together,  we  ate  and  slept  together,  I  think  we 
mostly  dreamed  the  same  dreams.  Talk  of  the 
love  of  brothers,  it  was  not  to  be  named  with  our 
love ;  and  when  at  last  Angus  went  to  the  army,  I 
felt  as  if  one  half  of  me  had  died  and  gone  away 
forever.  Twice  over  he  saved  my  life ;  once  when 
I  was  drowning,  and  once  when  I  was  lost  cross 
ing  Ben  Trodhu.  My  own  kin  had  given  up  the 
search,  but  Flora's  father  would  not  give  it  up, 
and  at  last  he  found  me  and  my  dog  Brian  starv 
ing  together.  The  dog  had  laid  himself  down  to 
die  with  me,  his  head  close  to  my  face,  and  I  re 
member  this  moment  how  he  tried  to  comfort  me 
as  long  as  he  had  the  strength.  Well,  Angus  went 
to  Canada  with  his  regiment,  and  poor  Brian  died 
soon  after;  but  I  thank  God  I  was  able  to  sit  by 
him  and  comfort  and  help  him  till  I  saw  his  big, 


Provost  Robert  Mackenzie         17 

tender  eyes  grow  dark  in  death.  Poor  Brian! 
Now  you  will  be  understanding  why  I  would  give 
a  thousand  pounds  to  have  had  him  at  my  elbow 
this  night.  For  I  think  he  would  have  known  of 
the  glory  and  honor  that  had  come  to  me,  and  been 
glad  of  it,"  and  the  provost's  voice  trembled,  and 
he  put  his  hand  for  a  moment  before  his  eyes,  for 
they  were  full  of  tears — those  ancient  tears,  whose 
source  is  in  the  youth  of  memory,  and  which  only 
something  subtle  and  sudden  can  surprise. 

"You  should  have  spoke  of  these  things  before, 
Robert.  I  am  sorry  you  were  not  more  trusty 
with  me." 

"I  am  sorry  myself,  Marian.  I  will  tell  you 
why  I  did  not.  When  I  was  twenty-one  years  old 
my  Uncle  Roderick — God  rest  his  soul — gave  me 
the  five  hundred  pounds  which  was  all  my  father 
could  leave  me,  and  I  fancied — maybe  it  was  only 
fancy — that  he  thought  he  had  done  his  full  duty 
and  would  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  me.  So,  one  day 
after  a  few  words  I  did  not  like,  I  turned  my  back 
on  Morandaroch,  and  I  vowed  to  myself  never  to 
let  a  thought  of  it  come  between  me  and  my  fu 
ture.  I  tried  to  put  it  out  of  my  mind,  and  I 
never  even  named  my  life  there  to  Jamie  Brodie, 
though  we  have  been  very  close  friends  from  the 
first  day  of  my  Glasgow  life.  When  I  asked  your 
hand  I  told  your  father  that  I  was  of  a  good  High 
land  family,  and  he  said,  'Let  that  be ;  you  have  a 


1 8  Souls  of  Passage 

good  name  and  a  good  business,  and  that  is  more 
to  the  point.  I  am  not  asking  after  your  forbears, 
I  am  asking  after  yourself.'  And  as  the  years 
went  on  I  forgot  Angus,  but  only  in  the  same  way 
that  we  forget  the  dead  whom  yet  we  love.  I  did 
not  speak  of  him,  I  did  not  write  to  him,  but  he 
kept  his  place  in  my  heart  and  memory,  and  no 
other  man  has  ever,  or  will  ever,  take  what  is  his. 
So  when  I  got  those  few  pitiful  lines  written  on 
his  death-bed,  and  I  knew  that  he  had  not  forgot 
me,  my  heart  went  out  to  the  child  he  loved,  and 
for  his  sake  I  loved  her,  and  syne  for  her  own 
sake,  for  she  is  well  able  to  win  her  own  love,  if 
only  folks  will  be  a  little  kind  and  just  to  her." 

"I  had  been  kinder  to  her  if  you  had  been  freer 
with  me,  Robert.  I  feel  a  deal  different  to  the 
lassie  now.  For  it  is  not  to  be  denied  we  owe  a  big 
debt  of  love  to  her ;  and  though  we  may  pay  a  debt 
of  siller  with  siller,  a  debt  of  love  must  be  paid  in 
kind  or  go  unblessed." 

"And  you  will  be  remembering,  Marian,  what 
the  Scriptures  say  about  entertaining  strangers." 

"I  am  minding  it,  provost ;  but  I  am  not  expect 
ing  anything  so  extraordinar  as  that  Flora  Dun- 
brack  will  turn  out  to  be  an  angel." 

The  provost  rose  with  a  sigh  and  went  to  the 
window  and  looked  up  to  the  blue  lift  full  of  stars. 
The  watch  was  just  calling  "Half -past  twelve,  and 
a  fine,  starlight  morning,"  and  he  listened  until 


Provost  Robert  Mackenzie         19 

the  man's  voice  was  lost  in  the  empty  street. 
Then  he  said : 

"I  have  had  a  long  day,  wife,  and  the  best  part 
of  it  has  been  the  end  of  it.  There  is  nothing  now 
between  us  but  love,  for  I  have  shared  the  last 
thought  and  fear  and  hope  with  you.  And  I  am 
thankful  this  night  to  the  Giver  of  all  good  gifts 
that  in  the  height  of  my  prosperity  He  thought  of 
me,  and  sent  me  a  back-glimpse  of  life  to  sober  me, 
and  that  I  was  helped  to  share  with  you  the  care 
anent  our  boy,  that  has  been  troubling  my  heart 
for  a  long  time.  My  dear  Marian!  'I  wouldna 
gie  my  ain  wife  for  any  wife  I  see.'  Now  we  be  to 
ask  His  blessing,  and  then  rest  in  its  merciful 
shadow." 

But  long  after,  when  all  his  physical  senses  were 
fast  shut  in  deep  sleep,  the  wife,  wakeful  over 
many  new  thoughts,  heard  the  unconscious  man 
murmuring  in  the  far-off,  hollow  voice  of  the 
dreamer : 

"  On  high  Benmore  green  mosses  grow, 
And  heath  bells  bud  in  deep  Glencoe." 


CHAPTER  II. 

FLORA   DUNBRACK. 

IT  was  really  spring  in  spite  of  the  showers  and 
the  chill  wind,  for  the  sunshine  was  coming  into 
Flora's  room  as  though  the  sun  had  risen  for  her 
alone.  She  was  sitting  in  it,  singing  and  sewing, 
but  mostly  singing — a  lovely  little  woman,  fresh 
and  sweet  as  a  spray  of  apple  blossom  on  the  day 
of  its  birth.  Lazily  her  hands  drew  the  thread 
through  the  cloth,  keeping  a  kind  of  time  and 
motion  to  the  haunting  melody  of  an  old  Border 
song: 

"  Some  say  that  I  love  young  Polmood, 

And  some  say  he  loves  not  me; 
But  I  think  I'm  a  match  for  the  best  of  his  blood, 
Though  I  had  not  a  ewe  on  the  Logan  Lee." 

She  laughed  gaily  to  herself  at  this  assertion,  and 
went  over  the  last  two  lines  without  a  stitch  to 
keep  them  company.  Then  she  continued : 

"  For  wooers  I  have  many  braw  men, 

Booted  and  spurr'd,  as  any  may  see ; 

All  lighting  down  at  the  Mossfennan  gate, 

Down  by  the  side  of  the  Logan  Lee. 


Flora  Dunbrack  21 

"  Three  came  east,  and  three  came  west, 

Three  came  out  from  the  North  Countrie ; 
The  lave  all  came  from  the  Moffat-side, 
All  lighting  down  at  the  Logan  Lee." 

And  with  the  last  lines  she  rose,  threw  down  her 
sewing,  and  spreading  her  little  black  gown,  be 
gan  to  step  a  stately  measure,  that  had  a  delightful 
Old  World  charm  about  it.  Her  eyes  danced,  her 
face  blushed  like  a  rose,  her  bright  brown  hair, 
falling  in  a  glory  around  her,  seemed  to  be  instinct 
with  radiant  life  in  every  single  strand.  It  waved 
and  curled,  and  fell  forward  and  backward,  as  if 
aware  of  the  girl's  delight,  and  she  lifted  her 
hands  and  put  it  behind  her  ears,  and  in  her  un 
conscious  abandonment  to  the  joy  of  melodious 
movement  made  a  picture  that  was  in  the  highest 
degree  captivating. 

When  she  was  weary  she  sat  down  and  lifted 
her  work  again,  and  began  to  talk  to  herself — a 
very  significant  thing  to  do.  For  this  converse  is 
with  ourselves,  with  our  inner,  real  life;  and  in 
such  communion  we  may  express  every  feeling 
without  any  fear  of  giving  offence,  and  without 
any  doubt  of  complete  sympathy.  So  as  she  put 
the  needle  through  the  linen  she  said  to  the  woman 
within  her,  "What  do  you  think  of  it,  Flora? 
What  is  the  meaning  of  it  all?  I  am  to  call  Pro 
vost  Mackenzie  'Uncle,'  and  Mistress  Mackenzie 
'Aunt,'  and  Jessie  is  to  be  'Cousin  Jessie,'  and 


22  Souls  of  Passage 

Alan  'Cousin  Alan.'  Have  I  had  a  fortune  left 
me  ?  Or  have  there  been  rulings  and  counsellings 
from  the  pillow ?  Or  is  it  Alan's  doing?  Or  the 
minister's?  Alan  is  in  love  with  me,  and  he  does 
not  know  it,  and  I  hope  he  will  never  find  it  out ; 
and  the  big  minister — six  feet  two  of  divinity,  I 
mean  theology — I  could  not  be  worthy  of  so  much 
approval;  and  I  hope  he  will  never  express  it — 
men  are  so  queer,  and  they  think  girls  believe 
them.  Oh ! 


"  '  Some  say  that  I  love  young  Polmood, 
And  some  say  he  loves  not  me.' " 


The  merry,  mocking  words  were  ringing  through 
the  room  when  Jessie  Mackenzie  opened  the  door 
and  said : 

"Cousin  Flora,  you  sing  more  Scotch  songs 
than  any  Scotch  girl  I  know.  Where  did  you 
learn  the  'Logan  Lee'?" 

"In  Canada.  I  was  riding  with  father  one  day 
in  the  woods  near  Ontario  and  we  came  to  a 
Scotch  settlement,  and  a  woman  stood  in  the  door 
of  a  cabin  singing  it.  There  was  a  spring  of 
water  close  by,  and  father  said,  'Let  us  water  our 
horses,'  and  as  they  drank  he  took  up  the  song  and 
sang  it  with  her.  And  she  said,  'Light  down,  sir 
— you  and  the  young  lady — and  have  a  drink  of 
milk  and  a  mouthful  of  oat  cake,  just  for  the  sake 
of  the  "Logan  Lee."  '  And  we  did  so ;  and  when 


"  SHE  HEGAN  TO  STEP  A  STATELY  MEASURE." 


Flora  Dunbrack  23 

father  began  to  talk  to  her  he  found  she  had  come 
from  a  place  called  Morandaroch,  quite  near  his 
own  home,  and  they  were  Mackenzies.  Some  of 
them  had  known  father  when  he  was  a  boy  and  a 
young  man.  So  ever  since  I  love  the  'Logan  Lee,' 
for  I  always  smell  the  pines,  and  feel  the  great 
silence,  and  hear  my  father's  voice  in  it.  Yes, 
when  I  sing  the  'Logan  Lee'  there  are  more  sing 
it  with  me  than  anybody  but  myself  hears." 

"You  are  a  queer  lassie.  What  will  you  think 
when  I  tell  you  that  my  father  has  bought  Dun- 
brack  Castle,  and  that  we  are  going  there  ?  Your 
father  sold  it  to  Peter  McDuff,  and  he  sold  it 
again,  seven  years  ago,  to  an  Indian  officer,  and 
now  the  Indian  officer  sells  it  to  my  father." 

"Then  I  am  going  home!  Going  to  the  old 
home  of  the  Dunbracks!  How  strange!  How 
wonderful !  I  hope  my  father  knows  it !" 

"It  is  far  from  likely,  and  you  should  not  say 
such  things.  The  dead  will  have  something  else  to 
do  than  care  about  the  living." 

"I  think  that  is  what  they  will  like  to  do  best 
of  all — and  you  know  nothing  about  the  dead, 
Jessie — I  mean  about  my  dead." 

"Neither  do  you." 

"I  do  not  tell  everything  I  know.  Do  you  think 
my  father  and  my  mother  forget  me?  It  would 
be  a  queer  thing  if  they  did.  I  do  not  forget 
them." 


24  Souls  of  Passage 

"Well,  we  are  going  to  Dunbrack  in  two  weeks, 
and  you  will  have  this  and  that  to  buy,  for  I  dare 
say  there  will  be  no  shops  convenient.  Mother 
made  out  a  list  for  you,  and  she  says  you  had  bet 
ter  go  to  Campbell's  and  get  the  things." 

"Are  you  going?"    . 

"Not  just  yet.  I  am  expecting  Mr.  Laidlaw 
about  the  sewing  class." 

"And  what  will  Mr.  Laidlaw  do  when  Jessie 
goes  away  ?" 

"He  will  just  have  to  do  without  her," 
answered  Jessie,  smiling ;  "Effie  Gilchrist  will  slip 
into  my  place."  . 

"Oh,  what  an  ungrateful  thing  to  say,  Jessie ! 
But  I  will  go  to  Campbell's  and  fill  this  list  of 
pretty  things,  for  who  can  tell  how  many  braw 
lovers  I  may  meet  with  in  the  Highlands  ?" 

"There  are  plenty  of  Mackenzies  round  Dun- 
brack,  and  the  Mackenzies  are  a  handsome  race. 
If  you  should  meet  Alan  on  the  street,  mother 
says,  you  are  to  tell  him  that  his  father  has  heard 
of  the  theatre  party,  and  is  very  angry  anent  it. 
She  thinks  Alan  had  better  be  getting  his  excuses 
ready." 

"As  if  he  needed  time  for  that!"  said  Flora 
with  some  contempt.  "He  has  an  excuse  on  the 
tip  of  his  tongue  for  every  fault.  Have  you  seen 
him  this  morning?  And  what  does  he  say  about 
Dunbrack?" 


Flora  Dunbrack  25 

"He  is  delighted.  He  went  out  immediately  to 
buy  guns  and  fishing  tackle.  You  would  suppose 
he  was  going  to  clear  the  hills  of  deer  and  the 
streams  of  trout,  but  any  Highland  lad  will  put 
him  through  his  facings.  Be  sure  and  get  a  linsey 
dress  for  the  heather,  and  high  boots,  and  a  hat 
that  will  tie  well  down." 

"I  will  not  have  linsey — I  will  have  tartan." 
"A  good  dark  one,  then,  like  the  Black  Watch." 
"I  will  have  my  own  tartan.     The  Dunbracks 
are  kin  to  the  MacLeods,  and  the  MacLeod  tartan 
is  good  enough." 

"Very  well;  as  mother  says,  you  be  to  have 
your  own  way ;  no  other  suits  you." 

"My  own  way  is  the  right  way — for  me." 
Then  she  put  on  her  bonnet  and  cape  and  went 
out  to  do  her  shopping ;  but  she  did  not  see  Alan, 
nor  did  any  one  of  his  family  do  so  until  dinner 
was  over  and  they  were  gathered  in  the  drawing- 
room.  His  absence  had  not  been  spoken  of,  but 
it  had  been  felt,  and  the  provost  was  gloomily 
pondering  it  when  the  young  man  entered  the 
room.  He  came  in  buoyant  and  eager,  and  looked 
exceedingly  handsome  and  persuasive,  as  his  eyes 
sought  the  whole  company,  and  smiled  upon  them 
in  such  security  of  good-will  that  it  was  very  hard 
to  resist  their  influence.  The  brightness  of  youth 
glowed  in  his  face,  and  the  light  on  it  came  and 
went  like  light  on  water.  He  had  a  caressing 


26  Souls  of  Passage 

voice  and  a  delightful  smile,  and  all  who  came 
within  his  influence  were  quickly  captive  to  his 
kindness  and  charm. 

There  is,  however,  in  every  face  a  moral  aspect 
and  value  that  is  less  evident  than  the  physical 
form,  but  far  more  potent  and  lasting  in  its  judg 
ment,  and  the  moral  aspect  in  Alan  Mackenzie's 
face  was  not  as  favorable  as  the  physical  one.  At 
first  this  weakness  was  not  recognized,  and  the 
conviction  of  it  was  generally  forced  unwillingly 
on  those  who  knew  him,  and  who  only  admitted 
the  fact  after  repeated  experiences  of  his  disap 
pointing  way  of  running  into  sand  before  he  ac 
complished  what  he  promised.  No  matter  how 
well  he  was  loved,  sooner  or  later  his  friends  were 
forced  to  acknowledge  this  mysterious  stamp  of 
moral  looseness  of  mind  on  the  physical  beauty; 
and  perhaps  no  earthly  feeling  but  maternal  love 
could  determinately  and  constantly  ignore  it. 

Certainly  his  mother  saw  no  fault  in  him,  and 
she  was  as  ready  this  evening  as  she  had  always 
been  to  stand  by  him  in  all  his  "deviations," 
though  the  theatre  was,  in  her  honest  belief,  a 
specially  wicked  one. 

"Good-evening  all !"  said  the  young  man  with 
great  good  humor ;  "I  am  a  little  late,  I  fear." 

No  one  spoke  for  a  moment,  then  Flora 
answered  with  equal  gaiety  of  tone,  "Good-even- 


Flora  Dunbrack  27 

ing,  Alan.  We  have  all  been  wearying  for  you. 
None  of  us  liked  to  say  we  wanted  to  go  to  the 
Highlands  till  we  heard  from  you." 

"Alan  does  not  want  to  go  to  the  Highlands," 
said  the  provost.  "Why  would  he  be  caring  for 
the  sea  and  the  mountains?  He  would  rather  be 
among  sawdust,  and  painted  women,  and  lamp  oil. 
Where  were  you  last  night,  sir  ?  I  cannot  believe 
I  have  heard  the  very  truth  anent  your  doings." 

"I  was  at  Glover's  Theatre,  sir.  Mrs.  Glover 
was  playing  'The  Jealous  Wife/  and  James  Little- 
John  and  Tom  Brodie  and  myself  were  of  the 
opinion  that  it  would  be  a  kind  of  education  to  see 
it.  We  shall,  all  of  us  be  forced  into  the  married 
state  one  day  or  other,  and  Mrs.  Glover  gave  us 
an  insight  into  some  things  last  night  that  will 
doubtless  be  very  serviceable  in  our  future  lives ;" 
and  he  looked  full  and  smiling  into  his  father's 
face,  for  it  was  well  known  in  the  Mackenzie 
household  that  the  provost  had  suffered  many 
things  in  his  day  from  the  exacting  affection  of  a 
suspicious  wife. 

The  provost  answered  the  insinuation  in  a  way 
Alan  did  not  anticipate.  He  looked  squarely  and 
sternly  into  the  young  man's  eyes  and  said,  "If 
that  was  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil  you  were 
after,  you  should  have  come  to  me.  I  could  have 
told  you  more  than  all  the  play  actors." 


28  Souls  of  Passage 

"Provost,  what  are  you  saying  at  all?"  cried 
Mrs.  Mackenzie.  "I'll  not  sit  and  listen  to  such 
remarks!  Me  jealous!  My  certie!  who  would  I 
be  jealous  of?  And  if  I  was  jealous  an  orra  time 
I  will  go  bail  that  I  had  my  own  good  reasons  for 
it." 

"There  is  no  reason  in  jealousy,  Marian;  and 
there  is  no  good  in  making  plays  and  nonsense  out 
of  it.  You  know  well,  Alan,  that  I  have  forbid 
you  to  go  to  a  theatre.  I  have  never  denied  you 
anything  that  was  right  and  manly,  but  to  what  is 
sinful  I  will  not  give  my  consent.  Whenever  did 
you  see  your  mother  or  myself  inside  the  danger 
ous  place  ?" 

"Yet,  sir,  I  rather  think  you  will  feel  obligated 
to  go  there  next  winter,  for  Mr.  Glover  is  going 
to  produce  the  great  national  drama  of  'Rob  Roy.' 
The  theatre  is  to  be  hung  with  the  famous  red  and 
black  tartan,  and  every  lady  will  wear  a  dress  of 
it,  and  every  gentleman  a  cravat  or  breast  knot, 
and  our  best  citizens  will  be  looking  for  their 
provost  to  be  present." 

"Our  best  citizens  will  be  doing  nothing  of  the 
kind.  They  know  well  that  Robert  Mackenzie  is 
no  theatre  man." 

"But  this  will  be  an  extraordinar  occasion,  sir. 
A  great  national  hero  like  Rob  Roy — " 

"A  great  national  robber,  and  cattle  lifter,  and 
jail  breaker!  I  will  not  sanction  such  a  character 


Flora  Dunbrack  29 

by  my  presence,  and  I  think  little  of  Walter  Scott 
for  giving  Scotland  such  a  like  hero." 

"But,  sir,  the  national  drama  ought  to  be  en 
couraged.  It  is  the  only  way  to  get  a  pure, 
patriotic  drama." 

"The  national  nonsense!  Forbye,  it  was  not 
the  national  drama  you  were  seeing  last  night.  It 
was  not  even  Mrs.  Glover's  lesson  on  jealousy.  It 
was  a  play  of  William  Shakespeare's  anent  love, 
and  foolish,  disobedient  love-making,  and  death 
and  suicide,  and  the  other  natural  results  of  such 
behavior.  Do  you  think  I  am  not  knowing  what 
'Romeo  and  Juliet'  is  about  ?  And  you  will  hardly 
have  the  effrontery  to  be  calling  Shakespeare  a 
national  dramatist.  Walter  Scott  and  his  Rob 
Roy  may  be  Scotch,  but  you  cannot  call  Shake 
speare  Scotch." 

"I  do  not  know  about  that,  father.  Some  of  his 
plays  would  warrant  the  presumption.  What  will 
you  say  about  Lady  Macbeth  and  the  Thane  of 
Cawdor  and  such  like  people?" 

The  provost  had  a  momentary  puzzled  look  at 
this  question,  and  Mrs.  Mackenzie  regarded  him 
with  an  expectation  that  made  him  feel  uncom 
fortable.  Flora  came  to  the  rescue  with  a  ringing 
laugh,  and  then  Mrs.  Mackenzie  laughed  also,  and 
Jessie  ventured  to  say : 

"Effie  Gilchrist  has  been  to  see  'Romeo  and 
Juliet,'  and  she  thought  it  highly  moral.  She  said 


30  Souls  of  Passage 

that  after  such  a  lesson  she  would  never,  never, 
never  allow  any  young  man  to  make  love  to  her 
unless  her  father  approved  of  him." 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  answered  Alan.  "For 
a  long  time  I  have  been  thinking  of  making  love  to 
Effie,  and  I  am  very  sure  the  elder  does  not  ap 
prove  of  me.  Jessie,  I  will  be  obliged  if  you  will 
signify  my  intentions  to  Effie.  Just  tell  her  the 
simple  circumstance." 

By  this  time  the  room  was  charged  with  Alan's 
easy,  happy  temper,  and  it  was  impossible  in  it  to 
consider  grievances  and  keep  up  a  disapproving 
conversation.  The  young  man  was  quickly  sen 
sitive  to  his  own  influence,  and  he  turned  to  his 
father  with  a  countenance  alight  with  affection 
and  respect.  "Sir,"  he  said,  "I  am  sorry  if  I  hurt 
your  feelings  or  principles  in  going  to  the  theatre. 
I  did  not  intend  that  you  should  know  anything 
about  it.  I  would  not  purposely  grieve  you." 

"But  don't  you  see,  my  dear  lad,  that  my 
ignorance  would  not  mend  the  matter?  It  is  the 
principle  of  the  thing — the  principle — the  prin 
ciple — the  morality  of  the  circumstance!  My 
feelings  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  eternal  right 
or  wrong  of  things.  Don't  look  as  if  there  were 
two  ways  in  the  matter,  Alan.  There  is  not." 

"I  do  not  really  care  a  button  about  the  theatre, 
father.  I  would  rather  go  to  the  hills  and  lochs." 
And  then  he  put  his  chair  close  to  Flora,  and  be- 


Flora  Dunbrack  31 

gan  to  examine  one  end  of  the  woollen  strip  she 
was  knitting.  Every  one  looked  at  him,  and  every 
face  wore  the  same  air  of  speculation — an  air 
which  could  readily  be  translated  into  the  ques 
tion,  "Is  he  in  love  with  her  ?"  Perhaps  Flora  felt 
the  unspoken  interrogatory,  for  she  flushed,  and 
her  fingers  moved  more  rapidly,  and  the  near 
presence  of  Alan  appeared  a  great  embarrassment. 
The  provost  broke  the  uncomfortable  pause  by 
saying : 

"Next  Friday  I  shall  send  off  the  Highlander 
with  the  carriage  and  horses  on  board,  and  what 
ever  else  you  wish  to  take  with  you,  Marian ;  the 
larger  part  of  your  trunks  had  better  go  by  this 
conveyance." 

The  proposal  brought  on  an  animated  discus 
sion  between  the  father  and  mother  and  Jessie,  but 
Alan  seemed  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  they  were 
disposing  of  his  belongings  as  seemed  right  in 
their  eyes.  He  was  talking  to  Flora  in  a  con 
fidential  way  about  nothing  at  all,  and  she  felt 
annoyed  at  the  unwarranted  familiarity  of  his 
manner. 

"You  have  dropped  a  stitch,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "Why  are  you  so  careless  ?" 

"Why  are  you  counting  my  stitches  ?" 

"Because  I  like  to  do  so.  Every  stitch  you  take 
is  a  fresh  charm." 

"See,  then,  you  can  have  them  all,"  and  she  rose 


32  Souls  of  Passage 

and  left  the  strip  of  work  in  his  hand.  He  looked 
a  little  foolish ;  and  Jessie  with  an  understanding 
of  the  situation  said : 

"You  are  dropping  stitches  now,  Alan.  Come 
here,  Flora,  and  tell  us  what  you  wish  to  take  to 
Dunbrack.  Will  it  be  the  piano  ?" 

"No,  indeed!  I  will  not  be  the  one  to  carry 
Glasgow  to  the  Highlands.  Let  us  be  content 
there  with  the  fiddle  and  the  bagpipes." 

"Sit  down,  my  little  lassie,"  said  the  provost. 

"I  am  sleepy,  uncle,  and  I  can  give  no  advice 
that  would  be  of  the  least  use." 

"Well,  well,  to-morrow,  then." 

"Ah,  sir,  in  what  far  country  does  'to-morrow' 
live?  There  is  yet  to-night,  and  I  may  go  back 
to  Canada  to-night — I  mean  in  dreams ;  so  I  will 
expect  Canada  to-night,  and  think  of  Dunbrack 
to-morrow." 

She  went  to  her  room  with  these  words,  and 
the  family  without  further  remark  continued  their 
discussion.  "I  am  only  an  outsider,"  she  thought ; 
"they  can  do  without  me ;"  and  as  she  uncoiled  her 
bright  hair  she  reiterated  this  supposition,  and  so 
continued  for  a  few  moments  indulging  herself  in 
this  dangerous  luxury  of  self-pity.  Suddenly  she 
heard  with  an  unmistakable  clarity  her  father's 
voice  in  the  "Logan  Lee."  For  the  ears  have 
phantoms  as  well  as  the  eyes;  they  hear  sounds 
that  are  not,  and  give  back  the  music  of  memory 


Flora  Dunbrack  33 

without  any  corporal  aid.  She  sat  motionless, 
listening  until  the  fugitive  melody — without 
sound  or  words — passed  away,  growing  fainter 
and  fainter,  until  it  was  rudely  dismissed  by  a 
clatter  of  carriages  outside  her  window. 

She  rose  and  looked  out.  Yes,  it  was  Glasgow 
and  not  Canada;  she  had  only  been  dreaming. 
With  her  usual  celerity  she  began  to  fold  her 
clothing  and  put  her  room  in  that  scrupulous 
order  which  living  in  the  restricted  spaces  of  camp 
life  had  taught  her.  But  she  was  no  longer  sleepy ; 
all  her  senses  and  feelings  were  alert  and  active, 
and  as  she  moved  noiselessly  about  she  remem 
bered  many  things  that  for  a  time  had  seemed  to 
be  forgotten.  "Father  was  intending  to  bring  me 
back  to  Scotland,  and  let  me  see  the  home  of  the 
Dunbracks — 'the  old  gray  castle  that  had  cradled 
them/  she  thought.  I  think  he  said  something, 
too,  about  buying  it — I  suppose  he  did  not  know 
McDuff  had  sold  it  to  that  Indian  officer.  And 
now,  instead  of  father  taking  me  home,  I  am 
going  with  strangers.  I  do  not  like  it;  I  wish  I 
was  back  in  the  woods  of  Canada.  I  am  tired  of 
this  life,  where  ministers  and  milliners  and  tailors 
'are  throned  powers  and  share  the  general  state/ 
and  we  pray,  and  dress,  and  visit,  and  shop  as  if 
these  things  were  the  chief  end  of  man.  That  is 
not  the  opinion  of  the  Shorter  Catechism,  but  it  is 
the  answer  of  our  daily  lives." 


34  Souls  of  Passage 

She  threw  a  shawl  round  her  shoulders  and  sat 
down,  and  after  some  thought  began  again  to 
talk  to  herself :  "There  is  Alan.  What  do  I  think 
of  Alan?  What  do  I  care  for  Alan?  He  is  in 
love  with  me — am  I  in  love  with  him  ?  No !  But 
can  one  catch  love  as  they  catch  a  disease — from 
contact  with  it  ?  Perhaps.  And  Alan  will  doubt 
less  be  heir  to  Dunbrack.  If  I  married  him  I 
might  go  back  to  our  old  home.  That  would 
please  father,  but  would  it  please  me?  I  do  not 
know — really,  I  do  not  know.  When  one  does  not 
know  which  road  to  take  it  is  the  part  of  prudence 
to  stand  still.  That  is  what  I  will  do.  I  will  not 
move  an  inch  to  meet  Destiny.  Let  her  work  her 
own  will.  How  white  and  soft  my  pillow  looks ! 
Who  can  say  that  life  is  hard  with  sleep  and 
dreams  to  bless  it?  Dreams!  In  another  hour 
they  will  be  wandering  up  the  darkened  stairs  and 
passing  into  every  sleeping  place,  busy  with  their 
guests.  How  far  we  see  in  dreams !  how  far  we  go 
in  dreams!  Somebody  says  our  little  life  is 
rounded  by  a  sleep — but — but  is  it  a  sleep  f" 


CHAPTER  III. 

AT   DUNBRACK   CASTLE. 

Two  weeks  after  this  conversation  the  provost's 
family  were  on  board  the  Clansman  bound  for 
Dunbrack  Castle.  It  was  a  stormy  sail  round  the 
Mull  of  Cantyre,  but  when  the  Minch  was  reached 
there  was  only  a  spent  swell  and  hardly  a  breath 
to  fill  the  canvas.  Then  Flora  began  to  look 
around  her.  She  had  never  before  seen  such  a 
mixed  company.  A  noble  of  high  degree  was 
talking  to  a  Free  Kirk  minister,  who  was  describ 
ing  the  voting  at  the  General  Assembly  in  some 
heresy  case.  An  English  squire,  going  north  to 
rent  a  shooting  box,  was  relating  to  a  Stornaway 
fish-curer  how  he  had  killed,  last  year,  the  biggest 
stag  in  Murshvoe  forest.  Farmers  were  talking 
of  prices  to  manufacturers,  and  merchants,  com 
mercial  travellers,  and  friendly,  sociable  people  of 
all  kinds  from  the  Hebrides  made  the  Clansman  a 
very  cheerful,  cosmopolitan  place. 

This  human  side  of  the  journey  was  blended 
while  daylight  lasted  with  the  most  wonderful 
aspects  of  nature — wild  headlands,  rocky  harbors, 


36  Souls  of  Passage 

towering  scaurs,  and  finally  the  serrated  hills  of 
Skye,  and  farther  north  the  western  coast  of  Ross 
— a  weird  wreck  of  colossal  masonry,  piled  there 
by  the  primeval  deep  which  first  began  the  fash 
ioning  of  these  hills.  And  grimly  through  the 
distance  loomed  the  ruins  of  many  an  old  ghostly 
castle,  girt  round  with  clouds,  and  standing  in 
strange  solitudes,  they  had  in  a  peculiar  degree 
that  haunting  charm  which  belongs  to  memorable 
places  utterly  forgotten.  Flora  saw  everything  as 
it  were  in  the  twilight  of  Ossian  and  Columba — 
the  very  cliffs  had  that  sombre  look  that  pleased 
the  early  saints,  and  girdled  these  rocky  shores 
with  their  lonely  cells. 

Sitting  together  at  night  on  the  deck,  with  the 
shadowy  land  on  either  side,  and  the  vessel  mov 
ing  steadily  on  in  the  darkness,  Alan  spoke  to 
Jessie  and  Flora  of  these  sacred  haunts  of  the 
early  missionaries.  But  Jessie  having  a  fixed  in 
tention  of  marrying  a  minister  so  distinctly  ortho 
dox  as  James  Laidlaw,  did  not  feel  it  right  to  give 
any  enthusiasm  to  men  so  distinctly  unorthodox. 
She  said  there  had  been  saints — and  more  worth 
the  talking  about — in  their  own  day;  and  with  a 
kind  of  hushed  reverence  asked  if  they  would 
think  of  evening  St.  Columba  with  the  like  of  Dr. 
Chalmers,  the  man  who  had  led  the  Highland  host 
of  the  saints  of  the  Free  Kirk  ? 

Flora  knew  nothing  of  this  tremendous  eccle- 


At    Dunbrack  Castle  37 

siastical  uprising,  and  she  did  not  answer  the  in 
quiry  ;  but  Alan  took  it  for  a  challenge  and  replied, 
"Certainly  not.  There  was  no  comparison.  He 
considered  Columba  beyond  all  doubt  the  greater 
saint  of  the  two,"  and  then  he  gave  her  a  rapid 
sketch  of  Columba's  labors  thirteen  centuries  ago. 
She  said  she  had  read  all  about  them  in  her  guide 
book,  and  she  supposed  most  of  it  was  tradition. 
Was  there  any  adequate  proof  that  the  saint  had 
ever  really  existed?  Was  he  not  possibly  a  kind 
of  religious  Ossian?" 

"Plenty  of  proof,"  answered  Alan  enthusiasti 
cally.  "His  works  are  still  extant.  I  have  learned 
his  hymns,  and  I  do  not  know  any  hymns  that 
can  equal  them." 

"I  hope  you  will  allow  that  King  David  could 
write  hymns.  I  am  sure  that  even  in  heaven 
David  will  be  glad  to  remember  he  wrote  'The 
Lord  is  my  Shepherd,'  and  it  is  not  likely  that 
Columba's  hymns  will  stand  that  test,"  and  Jessie 
looked  triumphantly  at  her  brother,  and  threw  her 
head  back  to  emphasize  the  argument  she  believed 
to  be  unanswerable. 

Alan  was  not  dismayed.  He  said  he  knew  some 
hymns  of  Columba's  that  angels  might  desire  to 
make  melody  to;  "for  instance,"  he  added,  "the 
hymn  written  when  he  journeyed  from  Tara  to 
this  lonely  land,  where  he  had  no  friend  or  helper 
but  God." 


38  Souls  of  Passage 

"I  am  thinking,"  said  Jessie,  "that  it  cannot  be 
an  innocent  thing  even  to  speak  of  the  writings  of 
the  two  men  together.  You  must  think  of  this, 
Alan  Mackenzie ;  David's  words  are  the  words  of 
the  Lord." 

"Very  good,  Jessie;  then  I  will  only  say  that 
the  hymns  of  Columba  are  as  fine  as  any  chorus 
of  Sophocles.  I  suppose  there  is  nothing  wrong 
in  that  association  ?" 

"We  all  know  David's  hymn  in  the  green  pas 
tures  and  by  the  still  waters,"  said  Flora;  "sup 
pose  you  repeat  to  us  Columba's  hymn  upon  the 
mountains." 

"I  can  say  eight  or  nine  lines  of  it;  for  I  say 
them  always  when  my  soul  is  cast  down  or  dis 
quieted  within  me : 

"  '  Alone  on  the  mountains  I  need  the  help  oi  God  only ; 
This  shall  shield  me  better  than  a  guard  of  six  thousand 

warriors ; 

For  not  even  these  could  avail  me  aught 
If  the  hour  appointed  for  my  death  had  come. 
The  reprobate  perish  even  within  the  sanctuary, 
The  elect  of  God  is  preserved  in  the  forefront  of  the 

battle. 

Let  God  order  my  life  as  it  please  Him : 
Nothing  can  be  taken  from  it,  nothing  added  to  it, 
Each  man  must  fulfil  his  own  lot.'  " 

There  was  a  moment  or  two  of  silence  when 
Alan  ceased,  and  Flora  looked  sympathetically 
into  his  face ;  but  Jessie  was  not  impressed.  "I  do 


At   Dunbrack  Castle  39 

not  think  much  of  that  as  poetry,"  she  said;  "in 
deed,  it  is  not  poetry  at  all.  A  minister  whom  Mr. 
Laidlaw  knows  has  written  a  much  finer  hymn 
about  this  coast.  I  will  repeat  eight  lines  of  it  to 
prove  what  I  say."  Then  with  a  consciousness  of 
her  superior  taste  she  continued : 

"  'Have  the  rocks  faith  that  thus  they  stand 
Unmoved,  a  grim  and  silent  band? 
Have  the  proud  billows  thought  and  life 
To  feel  the  glory  of  the  strife? 
Thy  way,  O  God,  is  in  the  sea; 
Thy  paths  where  awful  waters  be ; 
Thy  spirit  thrills  the  conscious  stone; 
O  Lord,  Thy  footsteps  are  not  known.'  " 

"They  are  excellent  lines,  Jessie.  Did  Mr.  Laid 
law  teach  you  them  ?" 

"He  advised  me  to  learn  them.  He  said  I 
should  feel  them  as  I  sailed  along  this  coast.  He 
was  quite  right." 

"Of  course  he  was  quite  right.  He  always  is 
quite  right.  Still,  I  shall  stand  by  the  old  saint. 
What  do  you  say,  Flora  ?" 

"I  will  let  the  sea  speak  for  me.  Come  and  lean 
over  the  taffrail  and  listen  to  it.  What  does  it  say, 
Jessie?" 

"Do  not  be  absurd,  Flora." 

"It  is  not  absurd.  Between  the  day  and  the 
dark  there  is  a  voice  in  most  things.  Listen  to  it 
as  it  breaks  against  the  Clansman:  'Saint 


40  Souls  of  Passage 

Co-lum-ba!  Saint  Co-lum-ba!  Saint  Co-lum-ba!' 
and  as  she  lifted  her  head  Alan  looked  at  her  with 
eyes  as  full  of  love  as  a  cup  full  of  wine.  Some 
thing  from  them  struck  on  her  heart ;  she  felt  their 
glance  from  head  to  feet;  but  the  feeling  was 
mingled  with  resentment,  and  she  was  angry  at 
herself  for  agreeing  with  him.  Jessie  also  was 
annoyed.  "We  had  better  go  inside,"  she  said. 
"We  are  only  making  a  speculation  of  ourselves, 
with  our  poetry  and  nonsense.  People  are  fairly 
wondering  at  us." 

But  in  this  little  incident  there  had  been  a  wide 
step  taken  to  lessen  the  distance  between  Alan  and 
Flora,  though  Flora  was  far  from  acknowledging 
it.  Indeed,  she  told  herself  that  she  would  not 
think  of  Alan  at  all,  and  then  she  ended  by  think 
ing  of  him,  and  dreaming  of  him  all  night  long. 
So  that  when  she  met  him  on  the  wet  deck  in  the 
early  dawn  she  was  shy  and  constrained.  The 
steamer  was  groping  her  way  through  swaying 
curtains  of  mist,  and  Alan  asked,  "What  does  the 
sea  say  this  morning,  Flora  ?" 

"It  is  not  right  to  consult  an  oracle  twice  in 
twenty-four  hours,"  she  answered  crossly.  "I 
should  only  hear  'Saint  Columba'  again ;  and  I  am 
tired  of  the  saint.  I  have  heard  his  name  even  in 
my  dreams,  I  think." 

"Why  do  you  say  'even  in  my  dreams'?     I 


At   Dunbrack  Castle  41 

should  not  wonder  if  dreams  are  a  very  important 
portion  of  our  life." 

"Really?" 

"Well,  we  spend  nearly  one-third  of  our  lives 
a-dreaming.  Is  it  likely,  then,  that  dreaming  is  a 
thing  of  no  consequence?  It  is  written  that  Co- 
lumba  prayed  even  in  his  dreams,  and  a  strange 
event  happened  to  myself  last  night,  Flora.  I 
dreamed  that  I  loved  a  beautiful  girl  very  truly; 
but  I  had  not  realized  it — until  I  dreamed  that  I 
loved  her." 

Flora  knew  that  he  was  making  a  confession, 
but  she  laughed  at  such  a  dream  lover,  and  was  so 
clever  in  keeping  space  between  dreaming  and 
reality  that  he  never  found  any  opportunity  to  tell 
her  the  name  of  his  dream  maiden.  For  this  half- 
confession  of  love  did  not  astonish  Flora ;  she  had 
anticipated  it,  and  her  heart  was  resolved  not  to 
be  moved  by  any  persuasion  Alan  could  make. 
The  physical  charm  of  the  young  man  she  al 
lowed,  and  she  was  vexed  that  she  should  be  so 
sensitive  to  it.  "What  is  it  that  pleases  me  when 
he  is  present?"  she  sternly  asked  herself — his 
handsome  person,  his  sunny  temper,  his  clever 
ness,  the  glance  of  his  kind  eyes,  the  touch  of  his 
hand,  the  smile  that  I  see  is  for  me  alone?  Very 
well,  but  what  of  his  readiness  to  fall  into  every 
temptation  that  comes  his  road?  What  of  his 


42  Souls  of  Passage 

continual  folly  in  lending  money?  The  good  pro 
vost  has  a  chronic  quarrel  with  him  on  this  sub 
ject.  What  of  his  rash  speculations  and  his  rash 
extravagances?  What  of  that  facile  temper  that 
makes  him  to-day  one  thing  and  something  else 
to-morrow?  It  might  be  very  pleasant  to  have 
Alan  for  a  husband — but  oh,  how  much  wiser  not 
to  have  him !" 

Perhaps  Alan  had  some  withdrawing  thoughts 
also.  The  rest  of  the  day  he  devoted  himself  to 
his  mother,  who  had  suffered  much  during  the 
first  part  of  the  sail,  from  the  grievous  prostration 
of  the  sea.  This  morning  she  was  able  to  come  on 
deck  and  look  at  the  wonders  of  the  hills  and  the 
waters — the  tides  racing  through  their  narrow 
ways;  the  mountains  fretted  into  marvellous  pre 
sentments  of  huge  cathedral  fronts  of  every  age, 
so  that  she  gazed  at  them  with  awe,  and  drawing 
Alan  close  to  her  whispered,  "I  think  I  have  seen 
to-day  the  temple  not  made  with  hands."  And  he 
understood  her. 

Toward  evening  they  reached  the  village  at 
which  they  were  to  leave  the  steamer,  and  they  all 
looked  rather  gloomily  at  the  broad-bottomed 
craft  which  was  to  convey  them  to  the  shore.  It 
was  manned  by  two  wild-looking  Highlandmen, 
with  bare  arms  and  streaming  hair,  but  they  knew 
their  work,  and  to  a  wild  shout  the  boat  went 
dancing  to  the  shore  on  the  great  v/aves  raised  by 


At   Dunbrack  Castle  43 

the  departing  Clansman.  On  the  little  stone  pier 
a  strong  wagonette,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  fine  horses, 
was  waiting  for  them;  and  they  struck  at  once 
into  the  woods.  The  road,  however,  never  left 
the  sea  very  far ;  its  roar  in  the  basaltic  caves  still 
kept  them  company,  till  after  a  rather  tiresome 
drive  they  came  to  a  village  of  white  slated  cot 
tages  clustered  round  a  kirk  and  a  manse.  Then  a 
mile  of  steep  ascent  brought  them  to  Dunbrack 
Castle.  It  was  not  a  castle  at  all  in  the  ordinary 
sense  of  the  word;  it  was  rather  a  stone  house, 
built  in  the  form  of  a  square,  the  main  part  of 
which  was  of  great  age,  and  covered  with  ivy. 
But  from  the  windows  shone  fire  and  candle-light, 
and  at  the  entrance  Cousin  Thrift  stood  with 
cheerful  face  and  words  to  greet  them. 

They  were  too  weary  that  night  to  do  more 
than  accept  the  comforts  provided,  and  the  exami 
nation  and  arrangement  of  the  house  was  a 
pleasant  anticipation  for  the  future.  No  one  but 
Flora  had  any  thoughts  beyond  or  behind  the 
present ;  but  she  could  not  help,  nor  did  she  desire 
to  help,  thinking  of  the  men  and  women  who  had 
lived  and  died  within  these  old  gray  walls.  They 
were  her  kindred  after  the  flesh,  and  doubtless 
mainly  her  kindred  after  the  spirit.  She  had  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life  a  sense  of  being  at  home. 
With  closed  eyes  and  clasped  hands  she  lay  awake, 
recalling  all  her  father  had  told  her  of  the  fierce 


44  Souls  of  Passage 

Dunbracks,  with  drawn  swords  righting  their  pil 
grimage  through  this  life;  and  of  the  beautiful 
women  who  had  had  the  far  harder  pilgrimage  of 
waiting  in  this  lonely  place  the  signal  for  their 
release.  Her  heart  was  full  of  the  vague,  melan 
choly  dreams  of  memory.  She  imagined  so  much, 
she  apprehended  so  much,  she  seemed  even  to  re 
call.  It  was  an  experience  she  accepted  without 
doubt,  else  it  had  never  been  hers ;  for  all  spiritual 
experience  proves  that  the  very  existence  of  an 
invisible  world  depends  upon  our  personal  re 
sponse  to  that  idea. 

So  musing  she  fell  into  a  sweet,  deep  sleep,  and 
when  she  awoke  in  the  morning  it  was  as  if  she 
were  in  heaven.  The  room  was  flooded  with  soft 
sunshine,  the  mystical-looking  pines  were  gently 
waving  at  her  window,  and  the  deep  mountain 
thrill  of  winds  and  running  waters  mingled  with 
the  solemn  murmur  of  the  ocean.  Life  was  so  de 
lightful,  so  full  of  joy  and  expectation,  she  was 
eager  to  begin  the  day.  It  was  a  new  world  she 
was  in,  and  she  threw  wide  the  windows  and  let 
the  mingled  scents  of  the  pine  forests  and  the 
ocean  blow  through  her  room. 

When  she  went  downstairs  the  family  were  just 
gathering.  Cousin  Thrift  was  bringing  in  a  dish 
of  broiled  trout,  Mrs.  Mackenzie  making  the  cof 
fee,  Jessie  reading  her  portion  from  the  "Blavat- 
zkey's  Treasury,"  and  Alan  examining  his  fish- 


At   Dunbrack  Castle  45 

ing-rod.  But  every  one  had  a  measure  of  that 
clear,  sweet  sense  of  living  which  filled  Flora's 
heart.  They  ate  their  food  with  gladness,  and 
then  went  eagerly  to  examine  their  new  home.  It 
was  a  house  full  of  surprises,  of  rooms  in  all  kinds 
of  unexpected  places.  Some  were  even  hid  away 
in  the  thick  walls,  and  the  entrance  to  others  was 
by  a  sliding  panel  or  the  drawing  back  of  a  full- 
length  portrait.  But  all  of  them  had  alike  the  old. 
very  old,  past  atmosphere  of  places  in  which 
humanity  had  lived  and  died  for  centuries.  They 
were  impregnated  also  with  a  personality  which 
no  one  recognized  but  Flora,  but  which  had  for 
her  a  singular  affinity  and  correspondence.  For 
old  houses  do  come  to  have  a  kind  of  local  human 
sentient  aura;  and  there  is  an  inherited  sympathy 
between  them  and  the  families  who  for  centuries 
have  inhabited  them. 

The  East  Indian  furniture  looked  strange  and 
out  of  place,  and  even  women  as  little  sensitive  as 
Mrs.  Mackenzie  and  Jessie  felt  its  incongruity. 
But  much  of  it  was  very  handsome,  and  at  that 
date  very  uncommon,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no 
reason  for  banishing  it  altogether  from  the  parlors 
and  guest  rooms.  Flora,  however,  would  have 
none  of  it.  She  went  to  the  great  garrets  in  which 
the  old  Dunbrack  belongings  were  stored,  and 
selected  from  this  store  some  chairs,  and  tables, 
and  a  pretty  tent  bed,  as  well  as  some  framed 


46  Souls  of  Passage 

needlework.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  this  kind 
of  ornamentation,  and  one  large  sampler,  the  work 
of  a  certain  Lady  Sara  Bella  Dunbrack,  particu 
larly  attracted  her;  for  it  was  full  of  quaint  say 
ings,  and  had  scraps  of  verses  embroidered  on  it. 

"I  will  hang  it  at  the  foot  of  my  bed,  and  it 
shall  be  a  talisman  to  me,  as  I  dare  say  it  was  to 
Lady  Sara  Bella,"  and  then  Flora  went  over  and 
over  to  herself  the  four  lines  which  had  pleased 
her  so  much : 

"There  are  four  corners  to  my  bed ; 
There  are  four  angels  at  my  head ; 
One  to  watch,  and  two  to  pray, 
And  one  to  guard  me  night  and  day." 

"What  a  beautiful  faith  you  must  have  had  in 
those  lines,  to  work  them  so  exquisitely,  Lady 
Sara  Bella!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  have  no  doubt 
you  believed  every  word  of  them.  So  will  I.  I 
will  not  be  one  of  the  foolish  virgins  who  can  do 
without  guardian  angels."  And  as  if  to  reward 
her  loving  interest,  she  found  in  one  of  the  draw 
ers  of  a  case  she  was  having  carried  to  her  room 
a  small  oil  painting  of  a  young  woman  of  great 
beauty.  She  was  dressed  in  the  fashion  of  the 
latter  half  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  in  her 
black  hair  there  was  the  white  rose  of  Stuart,  and 
where  her  lace  kerchief  was  knotted  there  were 
three  white  roses  resting  against  her  bosom. 


At   Dunbrack  Castle  47 

"A  Jacobite,  of  course,  you  lovely  creature!" 
she  cried.  "I,  also,  would  have  been  one  had  I 
lived  with  Prince  Charlie.  Oh,  my  dear,  I  will 
keep  you  now  in  the  sunshine,  and  talk  to  you 
every  day.  I  wish  that  I  knew  your  name,  for  I 
declare  you  look  as  like  myself  as  a  beauty  can 
look  like  an  ordinary  mortal."  Then  with  her 
treasure  she  ran  to  the  room  that  was  to  be  hers, 
and  carefully  removing  the  dust  of  generations, 
she  found  in  quite  distinguishable  characters 
"Sara  Bella  Dunbrack,  A.D.  1745."  Her  interest 
was  redoubled;  she  tenderly  passed  the  softest 
lawn  over  the  lovely  face,  and  then  smiling  down 
at  the  picture,  kissed  it.  After  a  few  moments' 
thought  she  opened  a  trunk,  and  took  from  it  some 
artificial  white  roses ;  then  she  arranged  her  hair 
after  the  manner  of  Lady  Sara  Bella,  with  the  one 
white  rose  in  the  rolled-back  tresses,  and  baring 
her  throat,  folded  a  white  veil  in  the  manner  of 
the  kerchief,  with  the  three  roses  lying  against  the 
breast. 

"Now  I  am  a  Jacobite!  and,  what  is  very 
strange,  I  feel  like  one.  I  will  go  and  show  Aunt 
Mackenzie  how  I  have  changed  myself;  and  I 
must  take  the  picture  with  me,  for  I  really  am  like 
it." 

She  ran  down  the  stairway  like  a  vision  of  a 
century  ago,  and  rushed  into  her  aunt's  presence. 
And  the  words  she  was  going  to  say  died  upon 


48  Souls  of  Passage 

her  lips.  There  was  a  stranger  there,  a  young 
man  in  Highland  dress.  He  was  standing  with 
Alan  looking  at  the  reel  of  his  fishing-rod,  and  he 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  what  he  was  saying  and 
turned  his  full  gaze  on  Flora.  She  stood  still,  and 
Mrs.  Mackenzie  stared  at  her  with  wonder,  and 
Jessie  with  disapproval,  and  Alan  with  admira 
tion.  The  embarrassing  silence  was  followed  by 
an  exclamation  from  Mrs.  Mackenzie : 

"Keep  me,  Flora!  You  perfectly  wonderful 
lassie !  What  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself  ?" 

"Look!"  she  cried,  so  full  of  excitement  that 
her  very  body  seemed  to  think,  "look  what  I  have 
found!  It  is  almost  a  picture  of  myself,  and  I 
dressed  like  it  to  make  it  more  so — I  mean,  of 
course,  that  it  is  much  more  beautiful — I  mean 
that  I  am  not  beautiful  at  all — but — " 

"Oh,"  cried  Alan,  "it  is  your  very  image!" 
Then  he  looked  at  his  mother,  and  she  said : 

"I  hope  you  will  excuse  the  nonsense,  sir.  Miss 
Dunbrack  means  nothing  out  of  the  way.  Flora, 
this  is  our  neighbor,  Mr.  Shaw  McDuff,  and  I 
dare  say  he  can  tell  you  about  the  picture.  His 
father  bought  Dunbrack  from  your  father." 

Then  Mr.  Shaw  McDuff  bowed  and  looked  at 
the  picture.  "It  is  the  likeness  of  Lady  Sara  Bella 
Dunbrack,"  he  said.  "She  really  died  for  Prince 
Charles.  I  will  tell  you  her  story  some  day.  And 
you  are  exactly  like  her.  Any  one  can  see  that." 


At  Dunbrack  Castle  49 

"Now,  Flora,  go  and  make  yourself  like  living 
folk;  it  is  uncanny  to  dress  for  the  dead,"  said 
Mrs.  Mackenzie,  and  embarrassed  and  ready  to 
cry  with  chagrin  the  girl  left  the  room.  No  one 
had  felt  as  she  did,  and  the  egoism  of  youth  is  so 
strong  that  it  never  asks,  "Why  should  they  feel  as 
I  do?"  There  was,  indeed,  no  reason  why  the 
Mackenzies  should  feel  any  particular  interest  in 
the  dead  lady;  and  Jessie  was  much  mortified  at 
the  invasion  of  this  element  into  the  proper  and 
satisfactory  visit  which  it  had  in  a  manner  ter 
minated. 

For  Shaw  McDuff  left  immediately  after 
Flora's  dismissal,  and  Jessie  was  sure  that  he  had 
been  displeased  at  the  Dunbrack  incident.  "It  is  so 
imprudent,"  she  complained,  "to  speak  of  family 
matters.  You  never  know  how  people  think  and 
feel.  The  McDuffs  may  not  care  for  Dunbrack 
reminiscences.  I  do  wish  Flora  would  act  more 
judiciously.  I  think  Mr.  Shaw  McDuff  was  much 
annoyed." 

He  was  not  annoyed  at  all,  but  he  had  been 
much  astonished  and  charmed ;  and  he  thought  it 
best  to  depart.  He  felt  that  as  long  as  life  lasted 
he  would  not  forget  that  swift  entrance  of  unex 
pected  loveliness.  "I  can  see  her  face  yet,"  he 
said  to  himself  after  he  had  walked  some  dis 
tance,  "it  was  like  an  illumination.  I  wonder  if 
she  is  to  marry  that  fellow — he  knows  no  more 


50  Souls  of  Passage 

about  fishing  than  I  do  about  dressmaking.  I 
must  ask  my  father  about  this  Miss  Dunbrack." 

He  had  scarcely  made  this  resolution  when  he 
saw  his  father  in  an  adjoining  field.  He  was  turn 
ing  about  sharply  on  all  sides,  pointing  here  and 
there  with  his  long,  thin  finger  to  the  ditcher  who 
was  taking  his  orders.  Shaw  called  to  him,  and 
he  came  at  once  toward  him.  He  was  a  tall  old 
man  with  bushy  white  eyebrows,  and  under  them 
sharp,  surveying  eyes  in  which  there  was  a  very 
artful  squint.  "Well,  Shaw,"  he  said  as  he  thrust 
his  hands  into  his  pockets,  "what  do  you  think 
of  our  new  neighbors  ?" 

"There  is  nothing  unusual  about  them ;  they  are 
like  the  rest  of  Glasgow  bodies.  The  mother  is 
civil  and  kindly,  the  daughter  a  saint — with  a 
temper,  the  son  a  conceited  young  muff,  who 
thinks  he  knows  all  about  fishing  and  shooting, 
and  he  may  hire  the  youngest  gillie  in  the  clachan 
to  give  him  lessons.  But  there  was  a  girl  there 
called  Dunbrack  that  is  able  to  bewitch  a  man  out 
of  his  seven  senses." 

"Dunbrack!  Dunbrack!  She  must  be  a  daugh 
ter  of  Angus  Dunbrack,  the  man  who  sold  the 
castle  to  me.  Just  so;  we  had  some  unpleasant 
ness  about  it — he  was  a  suspicious  creature/' 

Then  Shaw  told  his  father  the  incident  of  the 
picture,  and  described  Flora's  enthusiasm  about 


At  Dunbrack  Castle  51 

the  castle  and  the  people  who  had  lived  in  it  before 
her. 

"Aye,  aye,  talks  of  her  ancestors — 'them  that 
was  before  me.'  Just  so ;  I  am  knowing  that  kind 
of  a  girl.  I  am  thinking  she  will  be  having  little 
else  but  her  ancestors.  Angus  Dunbrack  was  a 
shrewd  creature,  but  he  was  sent  to  Canada,  and 
what  can  a  man  make  in  Canada  ?" 

"There  are  opportunities  in  all  places,  father. 
One  might  say,  What  can  a  man  make  in  Ros- 
shire  ?  But  you  have  not  done  badly." 

"I  might  have  done  worse;  but  it  has  been  a 
watch  and  a  scraffle.  That  is  not  all,  though.  A 
fine  lad  like  you  can  have  his  pick  of  the  women ; 
and  you  are  not  to  throw  yourself  away,  whatever. 
I  will  be  asking  some  questions  about  this  Dun- 
brack  girl — maybe  it  was  for  herself  Robert  Mac 
kenzie  was  buying  the  place.  Angus  Dunbrack 
and  Robert  Mackenzie  were  chief  together  when 
they  were  laddies — both  of  them  born  and  bred 
near  here.  I  shall  be  asking  a  few  questions, 
Shaw,  before  you  are  committing  yourself." 

"I  am  in  no  hurry  for  a  wife,  father.  You 
trouble  yourself  on  that  subject  beyond  all 
reason." 

"There  is  Euphamia  Macrae.  You  have  been 
thinking  of  Fame  ever  since  you  were  as  high  as 
my  walking  stick.  I  have  no  objections  to  Fame." 


52  Souls  of  Passage 

"But  Fame  is  poor." 

"She  ought  to  be  rich.  Ian  Macrae  thinks  he 
is  living  one  hundred  years  ago.  I  have  shown 
him  many  times  how  he  could  be  a  rich  man,  and 
it  was  so  much  good  advice  thrown  away.  But 
if  you  were  Fame's  husband  you  would  find  the 
land  worth  many  thousands  every  year.  There  is 
the  Macrae  forest  full  of  red  deer,  and  the  Macrae 
hills  full  of  grouse,  yes,  indeed,  and  ptarmigan 
also !  and  where,  nearer  than  Ben  Nevis,  will  you 
get  ptarmigan?  Nowhere.  Then,  one  or  more 
shooting  boxes  could  be  put  up  for  the  purse- 
proud  English  to  rent.  Macrae  says  they  shall 
not  shoot  o'er  his  ground.  Perfect  nonsense !  An 
English  lord  or  rich  brewer  going  about  the 
hills  jingling  the  sovereigns  in  his  breeches 
pockets  would  be  a  sight  and  sound  we  could  well 
thole  a  few  weeks  in  a  year.  Yes,  indeed,  praise 
God!" 

"That  also  is  what  I  think." 

"As  it  is,  the  Macraes,  rich  and  poor,  take  all  the 
deer  and  all  the  grouse  and  all  the  trout  they  want, 
and  not  a  'thank  you'  asked  for  them.  Any  land 
lord  with  a  pennyworth  of  sense  would  have 
packed  them,  bag  and  baggage,  into  Nova  Scotia 
long  ere  this.  They  lazy  crew !  They  are  eating 
him  to  the  bone,  and  that  he'll  find  out  when  it  is 
o'er  late  to  mend  it." 

"It  would  take  money  to  build  shooting  boxes 


At    Dunbrack  Castle  53 

and  send  nearly  a  hundred  men  and  women  to 
Nova  Scotia." 

''Here  is  the  money.  I  have  spoke  these  words 
to  him  often." 

"What  did  he  answer  ?" 

"Not  very  nice  words  at  all.  'Your  money  is 
costing  too  much,  McDuff.'  That  was  what  he 
was  saying  to  me — he  is  a  suspicious  creature." 

"You  have  a  mortgage  on  the  estate  already." 

"I  have  had  a  mortgage  on  it  for  sixteen  years. 
One  thousand  pounds  he  borrowed  from  me,  to 
give  his  sons  a  start  when  they  went  to  India. 
They  was  to  make  great  fortunes  there,  but  it  has 
been  touch  and  go  for  them  to  pay  me  my  in 
terest." 

"And  you  would  lend  more  on  the  land  ?" 

"That  would  I.  I  would  lend  three  times  as 
much.  I  am  quite  safe  on  the  first  thousand;  it 
has  been  paid  me  in  the  interest — the  lawful  in 
terest — nearly  twice  over.  Between  us,  as  man 
and  man,  he  owes  me  nothing  whatever ;  between 
us,  as  creditor  and  debtor,  he  owes  me  one  thou 
sand  pounds  and  half  a  year's  interest  on  the 
eleventh  day  of  July  next.  Now,  if  you  should 
marry  Fame  you  would  soon  make  her  do  as  you 
thought  right,  and  her  father  is  at  her  will  and 
word." 

"I  do  not  think  that.  Macrae  has  a  queer  tem 
per;  when  he  has  made  up  his  mind  to  a  certain 


54  Souls  of  Passage 

course  not  any  son  of  Adam  could  change  him — 
no,  nor  daughter  either." 

"He  is  a  poorly  creature;  he  can't  live  forever." 

Shaw  did  not  answer  his  father.  They  had 
come  by  this  time  to  the  village,  and  his  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  a  figure  pushing  a  little  boat  into  the 
water.  "The  devil!"  he  muttered,  in  a  voice  of 
annoyance,  and  his  father  answered  with  equal 
anger : 

"That  is  not  language  for  a  Christian  man  to 
use,  and  us  so  near  the  kirk,  too.  What  will  be 
the  matter  with  you  ?" 

"Excuse  me,  father.  I  forgot  that  I  had  prom 
ised  Fame  to  go  on  the  water  with  her,  and  the 
time  is  gone  by,  and  she  is  away  by  herself;  and 
now  she  will  be  angry." 

"It  will  be  no  harm  that  Fame  should  see  and 
hear  tell  of  another  young  lady  for  you  to  call  on." 

"But,  father,  women  think — " 

"Women  think !  Who  can  tell  the  thoughts  of 
the  inscrutable  creatures  ?  But  here  we  are  at  the 
manse,  and  I  am  going  in  to  see  the  minister. 
There  are  some  of  the  people  not  satisfied.  Rob 
Assynt  is  thinking  him  not  sound  in  the  essen 
tials;  and  John  Lochiel  says  he  is  not  sure  on 
Moses,  forbye  there  is  this  quarrel  about  instru 
ments  of  music  in  the  kirk.  Indeed,  I  have  been 
long  hearing  a  sough  of  talk,  leading  up  to  a 
serapheme,  or  melodeon,  or  the  like  of  it.  Mor- 


At   Dunbrack  Castle  55 

andaroch  will  stand  no  such  nonsense  just  to 
pleasure  a  few  sheep  from  the  Glasgow  presby 
tery,  that  are  here  with  a  gun  for  two  or  three 
months  in  a  year.  I  would  not  go  after  Fame.  If 
she  is  in  a  Macrae  tantrum,  you  could  not  please 
her;  if  you  should  give  her  the  whites  of  your 
eyes  she  would  go  on  flyting.  I  know  the  lass." 

Peter  McDuff  went  into  the  manse,  and  Shaw 
stood  looking  at  the  little  boat  on  the  gray  water. 
There  was  a  bright  red  speck  amid  the  gloom,  and 
he  knew  it  was  Fame's  red  hood ;  and  he  knew  also 
just  how  her  handsome  face  looked  under  it.  He 
walked  to  the  end  of  the  pier,  and  in  his  high- 
pitched,  falsetto  voice  called  to  her ;  but  there  was 
no  answering  movement,  and  then  he  was  angry, 
and  turned  away.  And  the  black  look  on  his  face 
indicated  that  the  McDufFs  tantrum  might  be  as 
ugly  an  affair  as  that  attributed  to  the  Macraes. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  weather  changed,  and 
for  three  days  there  was  a  monotonous  rain  with 
out  a  gleam  of  sunshine.  Yet  amid  the  gloom  the 
swallows  were  amicably  chattering  in  the  chim 
neys,  and 

"The  cuckoo  bird 
Breaking  the  silence  of  the  seas 
Among  the  furthest  Hebrides," 

and  such  a  sense  of  coming  joy  and  beauty  that 
Alan's  smiling  remark,  "It  is  a  dull  world, 


56  Souls  of  Passage 

friends,"  sounded  exactly  like,  "It  is  a  delightful 
world,  friends."  They  were  three  happy  days, 
full  to  the  brim  of  household  interest  and  home 
pleasure,  and  at  the  end  of  them  Dunbrack  Castle 
was  in  perfect  order,  and  they  were  ready  to  enjoy 
its  many  beauties  and  comforts. 

Then  there  came  one  of  those  exquisite  days  of 
early  summer,  that  in  the  Highlands  are  unwrite- 
able  and  unspeakable — the  birken  glades,  the 
whimpering  burns,  the  silent  summits  of  the 
mountains,  and  the  infinite  azure  beyond  them,  the 
larks  jargoning  in  the  fields  heavenward,  the  lin 
nets  singing  in  the  hedges;  and  to  the  west  the 
blue  sea,  and  the  white  sea  birds,  and  a  ship  with 
all  sails  spread,  sweeping  swiftly  toward  the  har 
bor  mouth.  Oh,  it  was  sweet  to  live,  and  sweeter 
still  to  love  in  such  days  and  in  such  surround 
ings  !  and  Alan's  heart  was  full  of  love. 

For  the  time  of  the  home  settling  had  provided 
so  many  little  confidences,  so  many  family  famili 
arities,  that  Flora  had  shown  herself  in  quite  a 
new  light.  The  feeling  that  she  was  "at  home" 
had  driven  away  that  air  of  proud  shyness  which 
had  so  often  done  her  wrong.  And  in  her  frank 
good-nature  Alan  became  his  very  best  self.  There 
had  been  no  explanations,  no  recognized  change, 
and  yet  a  charming  confidence,  a  half-spoken, 
quick-glancing,  sweetly  smiling  understanding  of 
each  other  had  taken  the  place  of  the  restless,, 


At   Dunbrack  Castle  57 

mocking,  easily  offended  intercourse  of  their  pre 
vious  acquaintance.  What  had  come  between 
them?  That  divine  love  which  attracts  the  best 
in  every  one,  because  it  gives  the  best.  Their  love 
had  received  no  special  care,  no  tender  oversight ; 
on  the  contrary,  it  had  been  rebuffed,  and  set  out 
in  the  cold,  and  wounded,  and  left  to  itself,  but, 
like  a  wild  flower,  it  had  grown  insensibly  and 
fast.  And  there  is  a  peculiarity  about  the  flower 
of  love — it  shows  various  in  the  bud. 

"  'Twill  look  a  thistle,  and  'twill  blow  a  rose." 

This  was  precisely  the  case  with  Flora's  love; 
no  one  could  have  suspected  the  sweet-natured, 
affectionate,  charming  girl  that  had  been  hidden 
behind  the  proud,  withdrawing,  self-conscious 
Flora  they  had  hitherto  known.  The  thistle  had 
blown,  and  lo !  it  was  a  rose.  She  had  practically 
learned  one  of  the  greatest  lessons  of  life — that  if 
she  wished  to  be  miserable  she  must  think  about 
herself:  what  she  wanted,  what  she  liked,  what 
people  thought  of  her,  what  attention  they  ought 
to  pay  her ;  and  that  if  she  wished  to  be  happy,  she 
must  think  about  others:  what  she  could  do  for 
them,  how  many  good  qualities  they  had,  how 
large  a  share  of  their  affection  they  gave  her,  and 
how  glad  and  grateful  she  ought  to  be  for  it. 

They  were  strangely  happy  days,  for  they  were 
days  of  growth  in  many  good  ways;  not  even 


58  Souls  of  Passage 

Jessie  had  a  look  of  dissent.  Indeed,  Jessie  was 
in  a  state  for  which  mortals  generally  make  great 
allowances — a  state  of  delicious  suspense;  yet  a 
suspense  full  of  a  sweet  assurance  and  a  deter 
minate  ending.  The  Rev.  James  Laidlaw  had  for 
mally  requested  her  hand,  and  she  was  waiting  in 
the  blissful  confidence  of  his  love  her  father's 
communication  on  the  subject.  It  came  one  morn 
ing  as  they  were  sitting  at  breakfast,  with  all  the 
windows  open  to  catch  the  joy  of  the  woods,  and 
the  hills,  and  the  sea.  Two  letters  were  given  to 
Jessie,  and  she  opened  one  with  a  perceptible 
tremor,  and  then  the  shadow  of  anxiety  grew 
light,  and  her  fair,  still  face  broke  up  into  smiles, 
as  if  there  was  music  in  the  letter.  There  was 
music  to  her  heart.  The  provost  had  given  his 
fatherly  permission;  he  was  satisfied  with  his  in 
terview  with  the  minister;  he  wished  his  daugh 
ter  all  the  happiness  she  anticipated,  and  sent  her  a 
check  for  five  hundred  pounds,  so  that  she  might 
order  at  once  such  additions  to  her  wardrobe  as 
she  desired.  When  she  lifted  her  eyes  from  this 
pleasant  epistle  she  saw  her  mother  looking  tear 
fully  at  her.  She  also  had  had  letters  from  the  pro 
vost  and  the  minister,  and  she  silently  stretched 
out  her  hand  to  her  daughter. 

"You  might  speak  a  word,  mother,"  said 
Jessie  between  her  smiles  and  tears,  and  Mrs. 
Mackenzie  answered  the  request  at  once.  "Alan, 


At   Dunbrack  Castle  59 

Flora,  I  be  to  tell  you  that  our  Jessie  is  promised 
to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Laidlaw.  Her  father  has  signified 
his  consent." 

"  'Approval,'  mother,  approval  was  the  word 
used." 

"His  approval  of  their  marriage,  which  is  to 
take  place  next  September.  So,  then,  Jessie  is 
now  almost  a  woman  in  the  married  state.  It  is 
just  extraordinar !  I  was  dreaming  of  her  last 
night,  and  she  was  a  baby  in  a  little  pink  calico 
frock — I  remember  making  that  pink  frock — and 
now  God  keep  us  all!  it  will  be  the  wedding 
gown." 

Alan  rose  and  kissed  his  sister,  and  Flora  snug 
gled  closer  to  the  budding  bride,  and  then  the 
party  broke  up.  They  all  wanted  privately  to  ac 
custom  themselves  to  this  invasion  of  a  new  ele 
ment,  and  Alan  was  glad  when  Shaw  McDuff 
came,  and  they  two  could  go  off  to  the  hills  to 
gether. 

The  new  element,  however,  rapidly  became  a 
very  domineering  one.  The  tables  were  littered 
with  books  and  samples  from  various  houses  in 
Glasgow  and  Edinburgh  dealing  in  those  beautiful 
garments  which  belong  traditionally  to  brides. 
And  the  consultations  on  these  things  were  end 
less.  Jessie  was  not  the  woman  to  buy  in  haste 
and  repent  at  her  leisure.  "I  require  to  be  very 
careful,  mother,"  she  would  say,  as  she  balanced 


60  Souls  of  Passage 

the  bits  of  lawn  or  satin ;  "a  minister's  bride  is  an 
object  of  speculation  to  the  whole  kirk.  James 
says  in  this  morning's  letter,  'I  must  be  moderate 
in  my  niceties  and  fineries,'  people  expect  that 
much  from  a  minister's  bride." 

"But,"  said  Mrs.  Mackenzie,  "you'll  not  be  for 
getting  just  yet  that  you  are  the  provost's  daugh 
ter.  I  must  say  I  am  disappointed  about  the 
wedding.  I  don't  like  it  done  in  a  corner.  I  had 
my  heart  fairly  set  on  a  grand  ceremony,  and  all 
our  friends  present,  and  I  cannot  settle  to  think  of 
a  'two  or  three  affair.' ' 

"James  does  not  want  to  make  a  show  of  him 
self — nor  of  his  wife.  He  says  people  will  stare 
at  a  bride  and  bridegroom  even  if  they  have  seen 
them  every  day  for  a  twelve  months." 

"That  is  a  perfectly  natural  unreasonableness. 
Most  brides  and  bridegrooms  like  to  be  stared  at." 

"They  ought  not  to  like  it." 

"That  is  ridic'lous,  Jessie." 

"James  says  so." 

"And,  pray,  what  way  did  he  find  out  ?" 

"His  native  good  sense  taught  him,  as  it  ought 
to  teach  every  one." 

"To  be  sure.  James  Laidlaw  is  an  oracle  of 
sagacity.  But  for  all  that,  when  I  see  him  next, 
I  am  going  to  have  a  few  words  with  him.  He 
ought  to  consider  your  father's  position." 

"He  must,  of  course,  consider  his  own  position ; 


At   Dunbrack  Castle  61 

and  I  do  not  think  I  would  argue  the  point  with 
him.  He  has  made  up  his  mind,  and  to  move  him 
against  his  convictions  is  a  hopeless  thing." 

"I  do  not  doubt  it — as  hopeless  as  to  tie  the 
wind  in  a  bag.  Let  me  see  again  the  satin  you 
have  chosen.  If  it  is  not  to  be  white  satin,  do 
come  as  near  white  as  you  can." 

"James  disapproves  of  white  satin.  I  could 
only  wear  it  once.  I  would  need  another  satin  for 
a  kirking  dress,*  and  James  thinks  I  ought  to 
make  one  dress  do  for  the  two  events.  James  is 
not  rich." 

"Is  that  your  notion?  Sensible  woman!  I 
never  wore  my  wedding  gown  but  once.  It  is  put 
away  in  lavender  for  my  golden  wedding,  if  God 
is  so  very  good  to  your  father  and  me  as  to  let  us 
grow  old  together.  But  you  are  a  very  queen  of 
Sheba  for  wisdom,  Jessie,  and  I  am  not  doubting 
the  judiciousness  of  Mr.  Laidlaw's  opinions,  not 
in  the  least.  If  you  want  a  prudent,  practical  man, 
you  must  go  to  what  they  call  the  divines  for  him. 
I  have  learned  that  much  lately,  Jessie." 

These  discussions  about  every  purchase,  it 
must  be  admitted,  soon  became  monotonous  and 
without  much  interest  to  any  one  but  the  wise 
woman  who  conducted  them.  Alan  had  other 
interests.  He  was  living  a  charmed  life  of  his 

*The  dress  a  bride  wears  to  church  the  first  Sabbath  after 
her  marriage. 


62  Souls  of  Passage 

own,  a  life  of  delicious  reverie,  of  half-appre 
hended  bliss;  a  life  in  which  as  yet  all  was  as 
wonderfully  lovely  and  silent  as  the  earth  just  be 
fore  the  dawning.  He  was  sure  Flora  loved  him ; 
the  very  words  had  trembled  voicelessly  in  the 
air  between  them,  as  they  had  stood  with  clasped 
hands  in  the  morning  greeting  or  the  night's 
farewell.  Their  souls  already  understood,  and  he 
was  only  watching  for  the  hour — the  fortunate 
hour — in  which  he  might  reveal  himself  in  words 
and  find  Love  waiting  for  him. 

One  morning,  about  three  weeks  after  their  set 
tlement  at  Dunbrack,  they  were  eating  a  leisurely, 
cheerful  breakfast,  when  the  mail  came,  bringing 
Jessie  word  that  the  minister  would  arrive  that 
night  on  the  Clansman.  Immediately  a  sense  of 
unrest  and  preparation  took  possession  of  the 
house.  Jessie  finished  her  coffee  hastily  and  be 
gan  to  make  arrangements.  Alan  was  to  go  to  the 
fishing  village  and  secure  the  freshest  and  finest 
fish.  Flora  was  to  cut  flowers  and  fill  all  the 
vases  anew,  and  Mrs.  Mackenzie  said  she  would 
go  herself  to  the  kitchen,  adding,  "The  Highland 
cutties  there  are  not  knowing  the  first  thing  about 
making  'the  sweets'  for  a  dinner  table." 

As  for  Jessie  she  had  a  multitude  of  things  to 
look  after,  both  as  regarded  the  rooms  and  her 
self;  and  there  was  such  an  uncomfortable,  un 
usual  atmosphere  pervading  the  house  that  Flora 


At    Dunbrack  Castle  63 

was  glad  at  the  early  lunch  to  hear  Mrs.  Mac 
kenzie  proposed  going  to  her  room  for  a  rest. 
Jessie  said  she  would  "do  the  same  thing, 
especially  as  she  had  her  hair  to  crimp  and  a  new 
satin  belt  to  make  for  her  white  dress."  Alan 
laughed  at  all  this  fuss,  and  hoped  when  it  was 
his  affair  "somebody  would  turn  their  house  out 
of  the  windows  for  him."  In  the  meantime  he 
said  he  was  going  to  look  at  a  yacht  Shaw  Mc- 
Duff  had  for  sale;  not  one  of  his  own,  he  ex 
plained;  it  had  been  built  last  summer  for  Lord 
Reay,  who  had  since  gone  to  Italy  for  a  year  or 
two,  and  who  wished,  therefore,  to  dispose  of  it. 

"Who  told  you  that  tale,  Alan?"  asked  Jessie 
scornfully. 

"Mr.  McDuff.    I  suppose  he  knows." 

"Well,  if  he  made  up  the  story,  I  suppose  he 
does  know.  I  would  not  advise  you  to  believe  it. 
If  you  want  a  boat — a  most  unnecessary  thing,  I 
must  say — but  if  you  do  want  one,  why  not  ask 
father  to  buy  it?  When  father  buys  a  boat  he 
knows  what  he  is  buying." 

"I  know  myself  what  kind  of  a  boat  I  want, 
Jessie.  It  has  been  in  my  head  for  a  year  or 
more." 

"It  might  be  a  good  thing  if  you  kept  it  there, 
Alan.  Anyway,  ask  father.  He  knows  all  about 
bows  and  sterns  and  keels." 

"I  suppose  I  have  heard  him  talking  yacht," 


64  Souls  of  Passage 

said  Alan.  "He  thinks  people  who  do  not  know 
about  these  things  must  be  idiots.  Is  not  that  the 
truth,  mother?" 

"Well,  Alan,  I  would  not  say  that  much.  But 
a  yacht  is  his  hobby,  and  he  does  think  a  man  who 
can  turn  a  racing  buoy  at  the  shortest  is  a  very 
superior  man.  When  Mr.  Henryson  was  running 
for  Parliament  he  got  your  father's  vote  just  be 
cause  he  luffed  his  boat  cleverly  on  the  top  of  the 
boat  of  the  other  candidate.  It's  a  fact  before 
divines!  Henryson  was  a  Liberal,  and  your 
father  was  never  that;  but  he  thinks  you  may 
judge  a  man  by  the  way  he  manages  his  boat,  and 
not  often  go  far  wrong.  So  if  you  want  a  boat,  go 
to  your  father ;  he  will  buy  you  a  proper  boat,  and 
I  am  not  thinking  much  of  Mr.  Shaw  McDuff, 
anyway." 

"Come,  mother,  we  cannot  discuss  boats  this 
afternoon,  and  Alan  ought  to  have  some  con 
sideration." 

"Kindly  remember,  Jessie,  that  I  did  not  begin 
the  discussion." 

"You  are  sure  about  trie  fish",  Alan?" 

"Sure  as  I  can  be." 

To  this  assurance  mother  and  daughter  left  the 
room,  and  Alan  lingered  a  moment  to  see  if  Flora 
was  inclined  for  his  company.  But  the  evidences 
were  not  encouraging,  and  he  went  off  to  seek 
Shaw  McDuff.  Then  Flora  having  watched  him 


At   Dunbrack  Castle  65 

out  of  sight,  turned  from  the  window  with  a  sigh 
and  a  pain  at  her  heart.  He  was  thinking  more  of 
the  boat  than  of  her.  She  was  vexed  that  he  had 
respected  her  apparent  preoccupation.  Why  did 
he  not  take  her  sewing  out  of  her  hand  and  ask 
her  to  go  to  the  hazel  walk  ? 

When  this  thought  came  into  her  mind,  it  came 
with  an  irresistible  longing  for  the  green,  cool 
shade  of  the  arching  hazel  branches.  There  was  a 
seat  at  the  bottom  of  the  walk,  and  flowing  past 
it  a  pretty  brook,  whose  source  was  high  up  on  the 
highest  hill,  and  whose  end  was  the  ocean,  scarcely 
a  mile  away.  It  had  a  happy  song  in  its  heart  all 
the  time,  and  went  singing  it  to  the  sea.  That 
was  the  place  to  go  for  rest  and  quiet ;  and  she  put 
her  sewing  tidily  into  her  work  basket  and  went 
to  the  sheltered  bench  among  the  hazels.  What 
long,  long  thoughts  are  the  thoughts  of  youth! 
Flora's  stretched  backward  and  forward,  and  for 
an  hour  she  did  not  weary  of  them.  She  was  just 
going  to  return  to  the  house  when  she  heard 
Alan's  steps,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  at  her 
side. 

"I  could  not  find  McDuff,"  he  said  cheerily. 

"And  so  you  came  to  find  me.    Thank  you." 

"Flora!  Flora!  You  know  you  are  wronging 
me.  You  know  that  you  are  the  first  and  the  last 
in  my  heart,  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  love  to 
me." 


66  Souls  of  Passage 

She  smiled  faintly,  but  did  not  answer. 

Then  he  came  closer  to  her,  he  took  her  hand, 
he  kissed  it,  and  she  reddened  like  a  rose,  but  made 
no  other  sign. 

"Flora,  tell  me  you  love  me,  and  keep  me  all  my 
life  at  your  side;  or  tell  me  you  do  not  love  me, 
and  never  can  love  me,  and  I  will  go  away  forever. 
I  wonder  at  myself  for  bearing  this  uncertainty  so 
long.  I  feel  at  this  moment  that  I  can  bear  it  no 
longer.  Do  be  kind  to  me.  It  would  be  a  joy  to 
some  girls  to  keep  me  in  suspense  and  misery,  but 
not  to  you,  Flora,  not  to  you !  Make  me  the  hap 
piest  man  on  earth,  or  put  me  with  a  word  out  of 
my  misery.  Flora,  Flora,  speak  to  me !" 

She  did  not  speak  one  word,  but  she  turned 
her  face  toward  him,  and  no  words  can  describe 
what  Alan  saw  in  the  eyes  of  the  girl  who  loved 
him.  Full  of  rapture,  he  drew  her  close  to  his 
heart  and  kissed  her,  and  in  that  sweet  embrace 
both  felt  what  can  only  be  felt  once  in  a  lifetime. 

Then  they  began  to  tell  to  each  other  under  the 
hazel  branches  their  tale  of  love,  and  they  believed 
it  to  be  something  quite  new  and  fresh ;  something 
sweeter  and  stronger  than  any  other  lovers  had 
ever  experienced ;  something  created  specially  for 
them,  out  of  the  noblest  impulses  of  their  hearts. 
And  with  the  generous  and  the  magnanimous  this 
is  really  so ;  they  make  love  to  grow  in  hearts  that 
love  them ;  they  create  it  from  their  own  store. 


At  Dunbrack  Castle  67 

After  the  first  amazing  sense  of  bliss  had  sub 
sided  Alan  said,  "Let  us  go  to  mother  at  once. 
She  will  love  me  twice  over  for  giving  her  such 
a  darling  daughter." 

But  Flora  shook  her  head  positively.  "Do  you 
not  see,  dear  Alan,  that  it  is  beyond  all  reason  to 
speak  of  our  love  at  this  time  ?" 

"No,  no,  no !  I  see  nothing  of  the  kind." 
"But  it  is.  Jessie  is  now  in  the  very  noon  and 
pride  of  her  engagement.  All  her  world  is  at  her 
feet.  She  is  the  most  important  person  in  it. 
Think  of  the  handful  of  letters  she  gets  every 
morning,  and  the  presents  that  come  by  every 
boat.  Not  even  your  mother  is  of  half  so  much 
importance  in  the  family  as  Jessie,  and  for  the 
next  three  months,  at  least,  every  one's  affairs 
must  be  subordinated  to  Jessie's." 

"Of  course !  Jessie  is  so  demanding." 
"But  Jessie  is  right.  Every  girl  expects  this 
little  importance  once  in  her  life.  She  is  like  an 
uncrowned  queen  without  it.  Now,  it  would  be 
very  unkind  of  us  to  tithe  Jessie's  pride  and  hap 
piness  in  her  lover  and  her  nuptials.  Suppose  we 
go  and  tell  mother  of  our  engagement;  she  will 
give  us,  perhaps,  the  largest  part  of  her  sympathy, 
and  Jessie  will  be  compelled  to  share  her  im 
portance  with  us.  It  would  be  a  great  unkindness 
to  her  to  let  any  one  even  suspect  our  betrothal. 
We  must  be  content  with  the  happiness  of  our 


68  Souls  of  Passage 

own  hearts ;  to  ask  for  more  at  this  time  would  be 
unkind.  Let  Jessie  and  her  lover  have  their  full 
measure  of  importance.  That  is  what  I  say,  and 
I  will  not  say  anything  else,  Alan — dear  Alan !" 

"You  are  right,  Flora.  You  wonderful  little 
woman !  you  quite  unspeakable  little  darling !  You 
are  always  right  and  kind  and  wise !"  And  Flora, 
smiling  gladly  at  the  wild  happiness  of  her  lover's 
words  and  expression,  said : 

"I  must  now  go  to  the  house,  Alan.  I  promised 
to  help  Jessie  with  her  hair,  and  you  may  find  Mc- 
Duff  now.  But  you  must  be  home  in  time  to  go 
with  the  wagonette  to  meet  Mr.  Laidlaw.  We 
must  make  Jessie  as  happy  as  we  can — our  turn 
will  come,  you  know." 

"I  will  do  whatever  you  desire,  Flora — my 
Flora!  Just  to  please  me,  dear,  just  to  make  me 
the  proudest  man  in  the  world,  say,  My  Alan !" 
Then  they  said  together  the  dear  personal  little 
word,  feeling  the  while  far  more  deeply  than  they 
could  express  that  potent  right  which  draws  a 
woman  to  the  one  man  in  the  world  for  her,  and 
a  man  to  the  one  woman  in  the  world  for  him — 
that  right  which  is  the  only  divine  right  in  the 
realm  of  love. 

As  they  were  parting  Alan  said,  "Do  you  re 
member,  Flora,  that  a  few  nights  ago  we  were 
talking  of  the  Highland  custom  of  betrothal,  and 
you  said  it  was  the  simplest  and  most  poetic  form 


At   Dunbrack  Castle  69 

you  had  ever  heard  of?  Meet  me  here  to-night 
at  nine  o'clock,  and  we  will  make  that  rite  to 
gether.  The  dinner  will  be  over  then,  and  Jessie 
and  her  lover  will  be  glad  of  our  absence." 

"It  will  be  dark." 

"It  will  be  nearly  light  as  day.  The  moon  is  at 
the  full." 

"I  will  come,  Alan.    Nine  o'clock  ?" 

"Nine  o'clock,  Flora ;"  and  so  with  a  lingering 
embrace  they  parted. 

Just  at  nine  o'clock  Flora  went  swiftly  down 
the  hazel  walk  to  meet  her  lover.  She  had  made 
herself  bewitchingly  pretty  for  the  occasion,  and 
when  she  reached  the  trysting  place  Alan  stood 
there  waiting  for  her.  She  looked  proudly  at  the 
handsome  fellow,  who  drew  her  close  to  his  heart, 
whispering,  "My  Flora!"  and  with  a  tender,  sol 
emn  sense  of  the  meaning  of  the  simple  ceremony 
they  were  going  to  perform  Alan  led  her  to  the 
little  brook,  wimpling  and  glancing  in  the  moon 
light.  Swift  as  thought  he  leaped  to  the  other 
side,  and  so  clasping  hands  across  the  water,  they 
repeated  together  the  promise  they  had  come  to 
make: 

"While  this  water  runs  to  the  sea 
I  will  be  true  to  thee. 
While  yon  moon  above  shall  shine 
I  am  thine  !  only  thine ! 
And  while  mountains  round  us  stand, 
Thine  my  heart !  thine  my  hand !" 


JQ  Souls  of  Passage 

A  sweet,  hallowing  sense  of  the  lovely  night  was 
over  them,  their  joy  was  so  great  it  was  near  to 
tears ;  they  sat  silent  or  spoke  softly  in  that  sweet, 
broken  patois  that  love  teaches,  when  the  heart 
acknowledges  with  a  blissful  sigh,  "I  feel  more 
than  I  can  say." 


CHAPTER    IV. 

EUPHAMIA    MACRAE. 

THE  invasion  of  a  distinctly  new  element  into 
any  home  is  never  a  pleasant  event  and  often 
a  very  tragic  one.  The  minister's  advent  was 
very  much  in  the  nature  of  a  conqueror  come  to 
take  possession.  He  assumed  such  right  in 
Jessie  and  such  airs  of  authority  about  all  that 
concerned  her — and  as  yet  Jessie's  concerns  were 
very  much  the  concerns  of  others — that  it  was 
often  very  hard  for  Mrs.  Mackenzie  and  Alan 
to  endure  the  interference  with  their  own  wishes 
such  supreme  selfishness  entailed.  In  these  days 
Shaw  McDuff  gained  a  very  familiar  position  in 
the  Mackenzie  household,  for  Alan  found  the 
society  of  a  third  person  a  very  necessary  condi 
tion  of  keeping  the  peace.  Shaw  was  politic, 
and  he  had  a  large  share  of  the  almost  unbeliev 
able  reverence  of  the  Highlander  for  the  clergy. 
A  man  wearing  "the  cloth,"  a  man  with  the 
three  magic  letters  "Rev."  before  his  name  could 
do  no  wrong  in  Shaw's  eyes;  and  he  was  always 


72  Souls  of  Passage 

distinctly  proud  to  be  seen  in  the  company  of 
one. 

Shaw  was  also  quite  able  to  converse  with  the 
clergy  on  all  the  subjects  interesting  to  them. 
He  had  every  one  of  the  Free  Kirk's  grievances 
in  his  heart,  he  knew  all  the  doings  in  the  General 
Assembly,  and  the  weak  points  in  every  heresy 
case.  And  though  he  was  a  good  shot,  he  liked 
better  to  talk  of  theology  than  of  forestry  or  of 
fishing.  There  was,  therefore,  little  wonder  that 
Mr.  Laidlaw  considered  Mr.  McDuff  a  young 
man  of  a  remarkable  intelligence,  altogether  a 
superior  young  man;  and  still  less  wonder  that 
Jessie  tacitly  acknowledged  her  previous  opinion 
of  McDuff  to  be  a  misjudgment,  and  that  she 
atoned  for  it  by  a  more  than  usual  kind  famil 
iarity. 

One  of  the  consequences  of  this  change  of 
opinion  was  that  Shaw  sold  Lord  Reay's  yacht 
to  Alan.  The  sale  came  about  in  the  most  natural 
manner.  Mr.  Laidlaw  thought  it  a  very  pretty 
boat,  and  he  said  McDuff  appeared  to  be  quite 
indifferent  about  disposing  of  it.  Indeed,  Shaw 
so  frequently  asserted  his  lack  of  all  personal 
interest  in  the  sale  it  was  impossible  to  doubt 
such  distinct  disclaimers.  He  admitted,  indeed, 
that  he  did  have  a  desire  to  see  his  new  neighbor 
take  the  advantage  of  a  good  bargain,  "and, 
perhaps,"  he  added  with  an  air  of  honest  confes- 


Euphamia  Macrae  73 

sion,  "I  have  a  little  selfish  hope  of  sometimes 
enjoying  a  sail  in  the  boat  if  it  belongs  to  Alan 
Mackenzie."  At  any  rate,  the  boat  became 
Alan's,  and  he  was  glad  to  have  her  as  an  excuse 
for  getting  away  from  the  new  member  of  the 
household.  As  it  happened,  there  was  at  that 
time  a  bitter  kirk  quarrel  on  hand  concerning 
the  use  of  instrumental  music  in  churches;  and 
the  minister  and  McDuff  had  an  absorbing 
subject  to  entertain  themselves  with,  and  were, 
perhaps,  as  glad  to  be  rid  of  Alan's  boredom  as 
Alan  was  glad  to  be  rid  of  their  dictatorial  ecclesi- 
asticism. 

As  yet  there  had  been  no  suspicion  of  the 
relationship  existing  between  Flora  and  Alan. 
If  Alan  remained  a  great  deal  in  the  house  when 
the  minister  and  Shaw  were  walking  about  the 
hills  or  making  calls  on  the  village  minister,  Mrs. 
Mackenzie  easily  understood  that  the  Dunbrack 
parlor  might  be  more  agreeable  to  her  son.  She 
did  not  suspect  Flora  had  anything  to  do  with 
this  new  inclination  for  domestic  life;  and  Jessie 
was  too  much  interested  in  her  own  love  affair 
to  be  aware  of  any  other,  even  though  that  other 
was  in  her  constant  presence.  So  that  this 
understudy  of  love  and  matrimony  went  on  in 
the  house,  and  in  the  garden,  and  down  by  the 
brook  in  the  hazel  walk,  and  no  one  but  the 
servants  suspected  it;  and  as  they  were  adoring 


74  Souls  of  Passage 

allies  of  these  two  young  people,  they  were  blind 
and  deaf  and  dumb,  and  only  whispered  their 
surmises  among  themselves. 

One  hot  day,  when  the  sunshine  was  crushing, 
the  family  sat  in  listless  mood  at  lunch.  McDuff 
had  managed  to  get  his  chair  next  to  Flora's,  and 
Alan  was  in  a  temper  at  the  circumstance,  for  the 
thing  happened  too  frequently  to  be  regarded 
as  an  accident.  In  fact,  Shaw's  admiration  for 
the  charming  girl  was  quite  apparent  to  any  one 
who  could  see  an  inch  beyond  his  own  interests. 
And  as  Alan  could  find  no  fault  with  Flora,  he 
longed  to  find  fault  with  some  one,  and  so  he 
watched  Shaw  with  that  intelligence  for  motives 
that  dislike  readily  supplies.  But  Shaw  trifled 
silently  with  his  salad,  and  the  minister  was  too 
much  in  earnest  in  disposing  of  his  share  to  open 
a  conversation.  Yet  Alan  felt  that  any  kind  of 
conversation  would  do.  He  was  confident  of  his 
ability  to  make  it  disagreeable,  and  was  not  dis 
concerted  when  Shaw  said  slowly: 

"You  see,  Mr.  Laidlaw,  speaking  of  your  able, 
luminous  explanation  to  Rob  Assynt  this  morn 
ing,  Calvinism  is  the  philosophy  of  the  Scotch 
people;  and  as  for  their  being  mostly  democrats, 
Presbyterianism  is  naturally  democratic.  Hence, 
Rob  Assynt,  though  only  a  fisher,  thinks  himself 
in  the  kirk,  and  as  one  of  the  elect,  the  equal  of 
any  man.  The  spirit  of  divinity  is  equality." 


Euphamia  Macrae  75 

"It  is  nothing  of  the  kind !"  said  Alan.  "It  is 
not  equality  in  heaven,  where  there  are  distinct 
orders — archangels  and  angels,  seraphim  and 
cherubim.  It  is  not  on  earth,  where  we  have 
archbishops,  bishops,  and  priests." 

"Alan !"  interrupted  Mr.  Laidlaw,  "we  have 
nothing  to  do  in  Scotland  with  prelatic  orders 
and  establishments.  In  the  Scotch  Church  all 
ministers  are  practically  equal." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir;  the  foundation  of 
Calvinism  is  inequality,  and  inequality  without 
individual  merit  or  demerit.  It  presents  us  at 
the  very  outset  with  that  awful  problem  of  the 
elect  and  the  non-elect;  and  what  equality  is 
there  in  that,  or  what  justice  either,  if  men  be 
born  unable  to  keep  the  commandments,  and 
yet  ordained  to  everlasting  perdition  for  break 
ing  them?"  These  words  he  poured  out  with  a 
rapidity  that  was  not  to  be  contradicted,  or  even 
stayed;  and  then  he  looked  around  complacently 
at  the  astonishment  and  displeasure  he  had 
aroused.  For,  after  all,  if  a  man  wants  to  be 
exasperating,  there  is  nothing  like  a  sweeping 
religious  denouncement  to  compass  his  ends. 

Jessie's  lips  quivered;  she  regarded  this  insult 
to  her  creed  as  an  equal  one  to  her  lover;  she 
rose  to  her  feet,  and  was  on  the  point  of  giving 
Alan  the  few  words  he  really  deserved  when  the 
door  was  rather  hastily  opened,  and  a  very 


j6  Souls  of  Passage 

handsome  girl  stepped  into  their  midst.  A  swift 
glance  at  the  company  satisfied  her;  she  made 
a  slight  courtesy  to  Mrs.  Mackenzie,  and  said: 

"Mrs.  Mackenzie,  I  am  Euphamia  Macrae, 
the  Macrae's  daughter,  only  the  Macrae  is  now 
a  simple  gentleman,  called  Mr.  Ian  Macrae." 

"You  are  very  welcome,  my  dear.  We  have 
been  expecting  you  before  this  day." 

"I  should  have  come  earlier,  but  I  did  not 
think  you  had  got  your  house  in  order.  Why  do 
you  not  make  my  excuse  for  me,  Shaw?"  she 
asked,  looking  directly  at  that  young  man. 

"Indeed,  I  ought  to  do  so,"  he  answered.  "It 
is  partly  my  fault  Miss  Macrae  has  delayed  her 
visit.  I  knew  you  had  so  many  private  interests 
to  attend  to,  Mrs.  Mackenzie." 

"Humm — ml  Afraid  of  me  and  this  High 
land  beauty !  that  was  his  reason,"  thought  Alan; 
and  indeed  he  was  not  far  wrong,  Shaw  had 
feared  Alan,  and  Alan  instantly  saw  his  opportu 
nity  for  being  satisfactorily  annoying. 

While  this  short  explanation  was  being  made 
by  Shaw,  every  one  in  the  room  had  their  eyes 
fixed  on  the  young  lady.  Her  beauty  caused 
a  sense  of  delight  and  astonishment.  It  was 
gypsy-like  in  its  olive  skin  and  the  rich  carnation 
color  blushing  through  it.  But  her  eyes  were 
the  Highland  eyes,  brown,  soft,  and  kindly. 
Altogether,  a  face  to  disarm  criticism;  and  she 


Euphamia  Macrae  77 

was  received  with  open  heart  as  a  welcome  addi 
tion  to  the  Dunbrack  circle.  Before  half  an 
hour  was  over  she  was  at  the  piano,  and  singing 
merrily  with  Flora  and  Alan,  and  even  Jessie, 
"Wha  Wouldna  Fight  for  Charlie?''  "The  Gath 
ering  of  the  Clans,"  "When  the  King  Conies 
Hame,"  and  other  rattling  Jacobite  songs. 

With  this  music  in  his  ears  Shaw  found  theo 
logical  discussion  difficult,  and  Alan's  happy 
voice  mingling  with  Flora's  and  Fame's  roused 
in  his  heart  the  very  devil  of  hatred. 

"That  insolent  fop!"  he  thought.  "I  knew 
how  it  would  be !"  Then  aloud  to  Mr.  Laidlaw, 
"Had  we  not  better  join  the  party,  sir?" 

The  minister  slowly  rose,  and  they  went  to 
gether  to  the  drawing-room.  By  this  time 
Fame's  fingers  were  whipping  from  the  ivory 
keys  the  delirious  music  of  a  Scotch  reel,  and 
Flora  and  Alan  were  stepping  to  it;  and  Mrs. 
Mackenzie,  entering  by  another  door  at  the 
same  time,  spreading  her  skirts,  and  taking  the 
old  tingling  step  with  bows  and  laughter.  Alan 
did  not  suffer  the  minister's  entrance  to  damp 
the  enthusiasm;  the  poignant,  magical  sounds 
went  on  to  their  conclusion;  and  then  suddenly, 
without  a  moment's  pause,  Fame  dropped  into 
that  very  soul  of  hopeless  pathos,  "Lochaber 
No  More,"  and  her  voice  sobbed  through  the 
wailing  notes  till  the  house  was  full  of  their  grief 


78  Souls  of  Passage 

and  lamenting.  When  she  ceased  there  was  a 
dead  silence,  tears  were  in  every  eye,  the  minister 
had  unconsciously  clasped  Jessie's  hand,  Mrs. 
Mackenzie  had  covered  her  face,  Alan  and  Flora 
stood  spellbound  beside  the  singer,  and  a  gar 
dener  outside  was  leaning  on  his  spade,  weeping. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Mackenzie,  breaking 
the  impassioned  silence,  "you  have  fairly  dis 
tracted  us  all  with  your  bygone  sorrows  and 
songs.  You  are  just  an  incredible  little  witch 
with  the  music.  But  it  is  far  too  hot  a  day  to  be 
gathering  the  clans  for  Charlie,  and  what  I  say 
is,  run  away  with  Flora  to  her  room  for  an  hour 
or  two,  and  talk  of  Queen  Victoria  and  your  own 
weddings." 

"I  cannot  stay  longer  now,"  said  Fame  with 
a  sudden  shyness.  "My  father  will  be  wearying 
for  me." 

"Then  he  will  just  have  to  thole  his  weariness, 
for  I  will  not  take  a  nay-say  from  you."  So  the 
two  girls  went  away  together,  and  Jessie  and  her 
mother  followed,  and  the  three  men  were  left 
standing  in  the  suddenly  still  parlor. 

"I  never  heard  such  music  in  my  life,"  said 
Alan.  "It  tingles  in  my  heart  and  brain  yet." 

"The  young  lady  has  a  great  capacity,"  said 
the  minister.  "I  wish  I  had  asked  her  to  sing 
The  Land  o'  the  Leal.'  " 

"She  is  a  natural  musician,  the  songs  are  in 


Euphamia  Macrae  79 

her  heart,"  added  Shaw.  "If  you  could  believe 
her  father,  he  would  tell  you  she  brought  them 
with  her;  that  her  skill  is  something  her  soul 
remembers  of  old." 

"Oh,"  replied  the  minister,  "the  absurd  theory 
of  reincarnation,  the  old  heresy  of  Origen !" 

"Much  older  than  Origen,  sir.  It  was  a  hoary 
theory  in  his  day." 

"Let  us  go  to  the  sea !"  cried  Alan.  "We  shall 
be  sure  to  find  a  breeze  there." 

Shaw  looked  at  him  with  undisguised  con 
tempt.  "Who  is  to  manage  the  boat?"  he  asked. 

"Earne  Macrae  is  on  her.  Is  there  a  better 
boatman?  And  I  suppose  we  are  none  of  us 
blockheads;  but  if  you  are  afraid,  Shaw — " 

"Afraid!  What  of?  Even  if  you  coup  the 
boat,  I  can  swim.  And  you  never  take  the 
Lapwing  far  from  land.  She  just  ripples  the 
shadows  of  the  hills — that  is  all  her  sailing." 

"I  take  her  as  far  as  it  pleasures  myself.  Will 
you  go,  James?"  he  asked,  turning  to  the  minis 
ter. 

"Not  this  afternoon.  I  have  a  few  ideas  to 
jot  down — some  other  time — some  other  time." 

"I  wish  my  father  was  here,"  said  Alan;  "he 
would  show  the  lot  of  us  how  to  sail  a  boat — 
yes,  indeed,  he  would  show  the  whole  country 
side." 

"That  would  be  a  sight  indeed!"  answered 


80  Souls  of  Passage 

Shaw.  "A  Glasgow  merchant  outsailing  a  High 
land  boatman!" 

"Provost  Mackenzie  is  a  Highland  gentleman 
as  well  as  a  Glasgow  merchant,  and  he  is  as 
proud  of  one  name  as  the  other;  and  I  will  say  it 
again,  and  maintain  it,  that  my  father  can  sail 
a  boat  where  no  man  here  would  venture.  I 
have  seen  him  when  the  seas  were  any  size  you 
like  outside  the  Cantyre  land." 

"If  I  was  you,  Alan,  I  would  write  a  book 
about  it,"  said  Shaw. 

"I  would  rather  be  learning  how  to  do  it,"  he 
answered. 

"Come,  come,"  said  the  minister,  "we  shall 
all  be  better  of  a  little  rest.  That  music  has  set 
our  nerves  quivering;  the  room  is  full  of  the 
martial  spirit  and  of  the  sorrow  that  comes  after 
it.  I  feel  that  I  need  to  go  into  solitude  and 
compose  myself." 

Then  Shaw  took  his  hat,  and  no  one  said  they 
would  expect  him  to  dinner.  He  reflected  on 
this  omission  as  he  walked  home  through  the 
heat,  and  in  his  jealous  mood  was  sure  it  was 
a  purposed  omission.  Alan  would  have  the 
company  of  Flora  and  Fame  all  the  evening, 
and  he  could  not  endure  to  think  of  it;  moreover, 
some  one  would  have  to  take  Fame  home  after 
dinner,  and,  of  course,  it  would  be  Alan.  It  was 
bad  enough  that  Alan  should  have  such  constant 


Euphamia  Macrae  81 

opportunities  with  Flora,  but  to  have  him  also 
interfering  with  a  girl  whom  he  had  been  accus 
tomed  to  appropriate  entirely  was  something 
not  to  be  borne. 

In  the  meantime  Flora  and  Fame  were  enjoy 
ing  the  first  sweet  emotions  of  a  real  girlish 
friendship.  Neither  of  them  had  ever  had  this 
luxury  before,  and  both  were  sure  there  was 
something  marvellous  in  their  meeting  and  in 
their  attraction  for  each  other.  "But  we  are 
both  in  a  manner  wild  girls,"  said  Flora.  "We 
have  neither  of  us  been  in  what  is  called  society. 
You  have  grown  up  among  the  Highland  hills 
with  your  father  for  a  companion,  and  I  grew 
up  in  the  Canadian  woods  with  my  father  for 
a  companion.  Is  it  not  strange  that  we  should 
meet  here,  and  that  we  should  like  each  other 
at  first  sight?" 

"No,"  replied  Fame.  "Father  says  such  meet 
ings  are  generally  appointed,  and  when  things 
are  fated  some  one  must  speak  the  word  or  do 
the  deed  that  brings  them  to  pass." 

"I  wonder  how  you  learned  to  play  as  you  do. 
No  one  ever  played  in  that  way  to  me  before; 
yet  it  was  real  music;  it  was,  as  Aunt  Mackenzie 
said,  "playing  on  the  heart  strings." 

"I  do  not  think  I  learned  so  much  as  I  remem 
bered,"  answered  Fame.  "Many  times  when 
people  have  been  explaining  things  to  me  I  have 


82  Souls  of  Passage 

kept  saying  to  myself,  'Oh,  yes,  I  know!  I 
know!'  My  teachers  all  considered  me  not 
teachable,  but  somehow  I  learned — or  remem 
bered.  Many  things  in  this  way  come  to  me.  I 
can  tell  the  time  without  a  clock.  I  can  tell  the 
fishers  where  the  herring  school  lies.  I  know 
when  it  is  going  to  rain  before  the  glass  knows 
it.  I  know  when  danger  of  any  kind  is  near. 
I  have  even  a  dim  consciousness  that  I  have  met 
you  in  dreamland  and  exchanged  a  word  with 
you  in  passing.  You  are  not  quite  strange  to 
me." 

Then  they  spoke  of  Jessie  and  the  minister, 
and  the  approaching  bridal,  and  the  rich  people 
who  would  soon  begin  to  come  to  their  houses 
on  the  hills,  and  the  shooting  and  dancing  and 
sailing,  and  the  long,  long  winters;  but  they 
never  named  either  Shaw  McDuff  or  Alan  Mac 
kenzie.  Yet  Shaw  was  certain  he  was  being 
criticised  and  talked  over  and,  perhaps,  ridiculed. 
Alan  had  no  such  torment.  His  surety  was  in 
Flora.  She  would  neither  say  ill  of  him  nor 
listen  to  it;  but  he  did  wonder  what  the  private 
opinion  of  the  girls  was  about  Shaw,  and  he  felt 
that  it  would  be  a  pleasant  thing  to  hear  that 
Fame  had  a  good  opinion  of  himself. 

When  they  met  at  the  dinner  table  it  was  with 
a  general  air  of  intimacy,  free,  frank,  affable,  and 
conversant.  Alan  had  been  an  hour  on  the 


Euphamia  Macrae  83 

water,  and  was  full  of  the  peculiarities  of  his 
boatman,  Earne  Macrae,  "a  most  extraordinary 
man,"  he  said;  "a  poet  as  well  as  a  sailor.  I 
wonder  if  he  knows  it?" 

"He  must  do  so,"  replied  Fame,  "for  his  songs 
are  sung  by  all  the  boatmen  round.  What  one 
was  he  singing  for  you,  Mr.  Mackenzie?" 

"He  was  not  singing  at  all,  but  he  was  con 
stantly  saying  things  that  were  very  much  like 
poetry.  When  the  wind  rose  he  turned  the  boat 
homeward,  because  with  that  wind  the  sea  'was 
mischiefous,'  and  then  he  looked  reprovingly 
around  and  added,  'It  is  always  hungry  for  men; 
if  you  will  be  noticing  the  white  horses  racing 
here  in  the  high  winds,  you  will  be  seeing  also 
the  long  graves  it  makes  for  them.'  Is  not  that 
poetry?" 

"Of  a  kind,"  she  answered.  "Earne  is  a  man 
by  himself.  My  father  is  loving  Earne,  and 
plenty  of  trouble  he  has  in  helping  Earne  out  of 
trouble.  Earne  will  shoot  too  near  the  McDuff 
land,  and  it  is  one  warrant  after  another  Peter 
McDuff  has  out  for  him;  and  the  birds  still  going 
where  they  should  not  go,  and  not  seldom  in  the 
season  a  young  stag  or  two." 

"But,"  said  Alan,  "Earne  should  not  touch 
game;  he  has  no  right  to  shoot — that  is  wrong, 
of  course." 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Mackenzie,  no  one  is  denying 


84  Souls  of  Passage 

that.  But  Earne  has  the  right  to  shoot  anything 
he  wants  on  the  Macrae  land;  and  ii  McDufFs 
stags  and  birds  will  trespass  on  the  Macrae 
heather,  is  Earne  to  blame?  My  father  is  a 
magistrate,  and  he  says  'no.' ' 

"And  what  does  Mr.  McDuff  say?" 

"That  is  another  matter.  Really,  Earne  does 
not  know  nor  care  who  is  owning  the  beasts  and 
birds.  He  is  a  savage  about  the  game  laws,  and 
respects  them  about  as  much  as  the  blackbirds 
respect  your  fruit.  It  is  as  ridiculous  to  punish 
Earne  as  it  would  be  to  punish  the  blackbirds." 

"You  are  wrong  there,  Miss  Macrae,"  said 
the  minister.  "The  transgressor  must  be  taught 
by  punishment  what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong. 
If  he  is  not  punished  here,  he  will  be  hereafter." 

"For  killing  the  game  on  the  hills  Earne  does 
not  fear  any  punishment  hereafter.  He  says, 
'The  Merciful  One  is  not  giving  man,  made  in 
His  own  image,  to  Satan,  and  not  supposable 
He  ever  will  do  so/  and  the  like  of  that  talk. 
You  should  listen  to  him  for  an  hour — it  might 
set  you  thinking — it  often  does  me." 

"I  expected  Mr.  McDuff  would  be  here  to 
dinner,"  said  the  minister,  ignoring  Fame's 
advice,  and  evidently  determined  to  change  the 
subject. 

"I  was  so  excited  with  the  music  I  forgot  to 


Euphamia  Macrae  85 

ask  him,"  said  Mrs.  Mackenzie,  "and  Jessie  for 
got  likewise." 

"I  do  not  think  he  would  have  come  to-night," 
said  Fame,  "because  they  are  voting  about  the 
organ,  and  he  will  be  in  the  kirk,  no  doubt." 

"Dear  me,  I  should  have  liked  to  be  present 
myself!"  said  Mr.  Laidlaw  regretfully.  "The 
question  of  vocal  praise  being  aided  by  an  organ 
in  the  kirk  service  is,  I  consider,  an  important 
one.  I  incline  to  favor  it." 

"I  cannot  see  any  harm  in  it,"  said  Jessie. 

"No  more  harm  than  there  is  in  the  precentor's 
pitch-pipe,"  said  Mrs.  Mackenzie. 

"The  bitter  party  feeling  aroused  by  such  a 
trifling  discussion  is  absurd,"  said  Alan.  "You 
might  think  the  people  in  the  village  were  dis 
puting  about  a  great  war,  instead  of  a  'kist  full 
of  whistles.'  " 

"Or,"  continued  Fame,  "that  the  Pope  him 
self  was  hid  somewhere  in  an  organ.  Such  a 
storm  for  nothing  at  all  is  perfect  nonsense." 

"My  dear  Miss  Macrae,  we  must  pay  respect 
to  the  prejudices  of  good  Christians.  I  have  it 
to  do  myself,"  said  the  minister.  "One  of  my 
elders,  a  most  estimable  man,  objects  even  to 
the  singing  of  paraphrases.  He  will  stop  a  friend 
outside  the  kirk,  and  say,  'We  can  wait  a  bit; 
they  are  singing,  and  it's  just  a  paraphrase.' 


86  Souls  of  Passage 

But  I  should  like  to  walk  down  to  the  kirk 
myself  after  dinner.  Will  you  go  with  me, 
Jessie?" 

Jessie  was  delighted  to  go,  and  Alan  instantly 
proposed  that  Flora  and  himself  should  walk 
home  with  Fame.  "It  will  be  a  pleasant  party," 
he  said;  and  as  the  proposal  was  enthusiastically 
received,  there  was  a  little  hurrying  of  the  meal 
to  make  an  early  start.  The  minister  and  Jessie 
led  the  way,  Alan  with  Flora  and  Fame  followed 
and  very  soon  did  not  follow,  but  lingered  and 
stopped  to  argue  a  point,  and  so  obviously 
wished  to  be  left  that  they  had  no  reason  to 
complain  of  the  circumstance  when  it  really  did 
occur.  After  all,  it  was  sweet  to  linger.  The 
summer  night  was  full  of  stars,  and  gradually  the 
holy  silence  of  the  gloaming  touched  them  to 
something  deeper  and  sweeter  than  laughter. 
Very  soon  they  were  in  the  great  wood,  through 
which  a  road  had  been  made  to  the  village;  and 
the  trees  began  to  press  them  closer,  and  they 
were  sensitive  to  something  in  this  temple  of 
nature — something  vast  and  nameless — some 
thing  superhuman  or  antihuman,  that  was  quite 
inexplicable. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Alan,  when  they  had  all 
fallen  suddenly  silent.  "What  is  it,  this  holy 
horror  of  the  forest?  Even  at  midday  I  feel  it; 
an  obscure  religious  dread,  a  singular  awe  of 


Euphamia  Macrae  87 

the  spirit.  Are  the  woods  enchanted?  What  is 
it?" 

"And  if  there  was  a  thin  spectre  of  moonlight 
gliding  between  the  branches,  how  much  more 
awesome  would  be  the  influence!"  said  Flora. 
"I  have  noticed  this  effect  in  the  Canadian 
woods.  What  is  it?  Enchantment?" 

"Suppose,"  answered  Fame,  "suppose  that  we 
have  among  our  forefathers  some  old  druid,  and 
that  just  a  drop  of  his  heart's  blood  is  in  our 
veins;  might  not  the  holy  horror  of  the  forest  be 
still  alive  in  our  spirits,  even  after  two  thousand 
years?  I  am  sure  it  might." 

"It  is  the  very  feeling  that  Wordsworth  ex 
presses.  Do  you  remember,  Flora?  We  were 
reading  it  together  not  long  ago : 

"  'A  weight  of  ages  did  at  once  descend 
Upon  my  heart;  no  thought  embodied,  no 
Distinct  remembrances,  but  weight  and  power, 
Power,  growing  under  weight.' 

No  doubt  Fame  is  right,  and  the  present  is 
haunted  by  the  past." 

"There  is  another  inherited  terror,  that  about 
snakes,"  said  Flora.  "A  child  that  has  never 
heard  of  or  seen  a  snake,  when  he  first  sees  one 
is  immediately  conscious  of  an  antipathy  and 
fear  that  seems  unreasonable.  I  have  seen  in 
stances  of  this  very  often." 


88  Souls  of  Passage 

"It  is  the  same  feeling,"  said  Alan;  "only  the 
trees  are  full  of  beauty,  and  a  snake  is  the  sum 
of  all  ugliness." 

"There  are  handsome  snakes,  Alan." 

"No,  Flora,  there  are  not;  even  their  beauty  is 
hideous  to  us.  We  hate  their  bare,  spotted, 
clouded  nakedness;  it  is  too  like  a  dusty,  sordid, 
soiled  humanity." 

"Why  are  we  talking  of  such  things  in  this 
heavenly  place?"  asked  Flora.  "Why,  indeed?" 
added  Fame.  "As  for  me,"  she  said,  "I  love 
trees,  they  are  almost  human;  they  sleep  and 
they  feel;  they  know  when  storms  are  coming, 
and  how  they  do  tew  and  fight  and  wrestle  with 
a  tempest !  It  is  even  said  they  know  when  their 
owner  is  going  to  die.  Always  before  one  of  the 
Assynts  die,  some  great  tree  near  the  castle  falls. 
And  who  likes  to  cut  down  a  yew  tree  or  an 
elder  tree?  Will  you  believe  that  I  saw  Alister 
Macrae  bare  his  head  and  implore  an  elder  tree 
to  forgive  him  for  having  to  cut  it  down?  Yet 
he  is  a  staunch  Calvinist." 

"I  do  not  wonder,"  said  Flora;  "whatever 
seems  to  suffer  seems  to  have  a  soul.  And,  per 
haps,  the  druid  drop  was  in  his  heart  also.  As 
for  me,  I  feel  glad  and  sorry  with  trees,  and  I 
cannot  help  it.  In  the  Canada  woods,  when 
I  first  heard  the  birds  in  spring  I  not  only  knew, 
I  felt,  how  glad  the  trees  were,  to  hear  the  singing 


Euphamia  Macrae  89 

in  their  branches  again.  And  I  used  to  imagine 
that  they  sighed  for  the  sorrows  of  the  nests 
built  in  their  branches.  What  would  men  and 
women  become  if  there  were  no  gardens  and 
no  woods?" 

"Yet,"  answered  Alan,  "the  minister  will  tell 
us  that  all  our  sins  and  sorrows  came  from  a 
garden  and  a  tree." 

"Do  you  believe  all  the  ministers  say?"  asked 
Fame  in  a  voice  at  once  tentative  and  assertive. 
"I  should  like  to  ask  Mr.  Laidlaw  a  few  ques 
tions;  or,  rather,  I  would  like  father  to  ask  them. 
I  would  not  have  the  presumption." 

"As  to  what,  Miss  Macrae?" 

"As  to  the  very  foundations  of  his  creed,  thus : 
Did  Adam  know  of  the  fall  of  the  angels?  Can 
you  not  see  how  that  knowledge  might,  could, 
or  should  have  influenced  him?  What  a  discus 
sion  there  is  in  it !  Then,  again,  did  Adam  know 
what  death  was?  Did  he  believe  in  it  until  Abel 
died?  And  did  predestination  take  place  only 
after  the  Fall,  or  was  it  influencing  the  angels 
prior  to  man's  disobedience?  I  have  heard 
father  and  Colonel  MacLeod  talk  about  these 
things  often,  and  I  wonder  what  the  minister 
would  say?  And,  please,  do  not  call  me  'Miss 
Macrae';  I  do  not  know  myself  by  that  name. 
We  have  quite  lost  our  companions." 

"They  will  not  regret  it,"  said  Flora.   "Jessie 


90  Souls  of  Passage 

will  ask  us  why  we  did  not  keep  up  with  them, 
and  the  minister  will  not  by  the  movement  of  an 
eyelash  suffer  it  to  be  known  that  he  was  con 
scious  of  our  neglect.  After  all,  he  is  a  faithful 
soul.  There  is  a  great  deal  in  James  Laidlaw  to 
respect;  and  he  is,  at  least,  a  refined,  thorough 
bred  ecclesiastic,  self-willed  and  self-confidant; 
but,  then,  Jessie  is  liking  that — and  every  other 
thing  about  him." 

After  this  manner  they  talked  until  they 
passed  out  of  the  wood  and  the  dim  vision  of 
the  ocean  burst  upon  them,  and  its  fresh  breeze 
blew  far  off  the  sensitive  seriousness  which  the 
shadows  peopling  the  wood  had  invoked.  "Lis 
ten  to  the  waves,"  cried  Fame.  "What  a  lively 
cadence  they  make  as  they  run  after  each  other 
on  the  beach!  And  see,  yonder  is  my  home! 
Father  has  put  a  light  in  the  window  for  me.  It 
is  a  gloomy-looking  place  even  in  the  sunshine; 
but  we  are  not  gloomy  at  all,  father  makes  every 
place  pleasant.  I  can  see  him  coming  down  the 
garden  to  meet  me.  Now  he  is  at  the  gate." 
Then  all  were  silent. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  reached  the  gate,  and 
Ian  Macrae  stood  with  it  open  in  his  hand. 
"Come  in,  all  of  you.  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Miss 
Dunbrack,  and  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Mac 
kenzie.  I  was  knowing  your  father  when  he  was 
your  age;  yes,  indeed,  when  he  was  only  as  wild 


Euphamia  Macrae  91 

a  school  laddie  as  you  could  catch  on  the  hills 
or  on  the  water.  And  you  have  been  keeping 
my  little  girl,  and  thank  you  for  your  kindness" 
— and  he  drew  his  little  girl  within  his  arm  and 
looked  fondly  at  her. 

"It  is  late,  Mr.  Macrae,"  said  Flora,  "and  we 
will  call  to-morrow." 

"No,  no.  You  must  not  come  to  my  thresh 
old  and  turn  back  from  it  until  you  have  stood 
on  my  hearth.  Come  in  one  five  minutes,  and 
let  me  look  at  you  in  your  faces." 

So  they  went  in,  and  he  poured  out  wine  and 
milk,  and  said,  "Now  drink,  for  there  is  more 
love  between  us  than  this  day  tells  of."  And  as 
they  drank  and  broke  an  oaten  cake  with  him 
he  watched  Alan  and  Flora  with  eyes  sad  and 
pale,  as  if  he  looked  at  them  from  some  depth 
of  antiquity.  His  face  was  of  that  noble  type 
which  age  makes  nobler;  and  he  had  that  natural 
dignity  of  manner  which  underlies  the  highest 
courtesy,  and  which,  united  with  the  gentleness, 
indulgent  love,  and  wisdom  of  old  age,  is  a  far 
finer  thing  than  the  fantastic  glamour  and  ex 
travagant  hopes  of  youth. 

"I  hear,  Mr.  Mackenzie,  that  you  have  a  boat. 
Sometimes  I  should  like  to  be  taking  a  sail  with 
you." 

"That  will  be  a  delightful  thing  for  me,  Mac 
rae,"  answered  Alan. 


92  Souls  of  Passage 

"And  for  me,"  said  Flora,  "for  I  will  go  with 
you." 

"And  for  me,"  added  Fame,  "for  I  will  not 
be  left  behind." 

"Now,  we  will  say  'good-night/  and  to 
morrow  I  will  be  watching  for  you — I  and 
Fame." 

"I  am  afraid  we  have  kept  you  from  sleep,  sir," 
said  Alan  as  he  walked  with  Macrae  to  the  open 
gate. 

"No,  you  have  not.  The  day  is  for  the  body, 
the  night  is  for  the  soul.  In  the  night-time  my 
soul  wakes,  and  I  wake  to  talk  with  it.  I  was 
going  to  write  you  a  letter  about  a  poor  man 
that  I  care  for.  He  is  in  trouble  again,  and  this 
time  it  is  not  easy  to  see  a  way  out  for  him.  It 
is  Earne  Macrae.  I  am  fearing  you  will  have  to 
look  for  another  man  on  the  Lapwing." 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"The  matter  is  this :  he  is  hating  the  McDuffs, 
and  he  will  not  stop  hating  them — how  can  he 
stop  hating  them  when  the  hate  is  in  his  blood? 
— and  he  has  been  cutting  some  of  their  herring 
nets,  and  that  is  a  thing  in  this  part  of  the  coun 
try  very  ill  thought  of.  'And  why  were  you  doing 
it,  Earne?'  I  asked;  and  he  said  only,  'Because 
of  the  McDuffs.  I  am  hating  them/  ' 

And  Alan  smiled,  and  asked  what  the  punish 
ment  would  be;  and  Macrae  said,  "A  very  hard 


Euphamia  Macrae  93 

punishment  for  Earne,  for  he  has  riot  a  shilling, 
and  it  will  be  as  much  as  twenty  pounds  to  pay; 
and  as  there  is  no  money,  then  the  prison  and 
the  hard  work — and  Earne  is  liking  neither — 
indeed,  the  prison  is  always  making  of  him  a 
wild  animal — he  is  not  to  hold  nor  to  bind." 

"When  is  the  trial?" 

"To-morrow  at  eleven  o'clock." 

"I  will  be  there,"  said  Alan.  "You  say  twenty 
pounds?" 

"It  will  not  be  more." 

"Can  it  be  proved  that  Earne  cut  the  nets?" 

"At  first  Earne  said  he  did  not  cut  the  nets, 
then  he  said  he  wished  he  had  cut  them,  and 
then  he  said  he  did  cut  them.  I  am  suspicious 
whether  he  cut  them  at  all;  but  he  is  hating  the 
McDuffs,  and  he  is  wanting  them  to  know  he 
hates  them,  and  not  caring  much  by  what  way 
they  find  it  out." 

"I  will  see  Earne  very  early  in  the  morning. 
He  is  on  the  boat?" 

"Yes.  His  uncle  was  his  surety  for  to 
morrow." 

"I  wonder  that  he  did  not  tell  me  about  it," 
said  Alan. 

"No  wonder  at  all.  He  would  be  putting  off 
to-morrow  till  to-morrow  came.  That  is  Earne' s 
way." 

Then  Flora  and  Alan  turned  homeward,  and 


94  Souls  of  Passage 

their  walk  back  to  the  castle  was  indeed  a  walk 
through  an  enchanted  wood.  Lovers  have  had 
such  walks  before,  and  lovers  will  have  them 
evermore;  and  yet  each  such  communion  has  its 
individuality,  and  belongs  of  special  right  only 
to  one  pair.  They  did  not  hurry,  but  they  were 
at  the  castle  and  eating  curds  and  cream  when 
Jessie  and  the  minister  followed  them.  They 
also  had  had  their  walk  into  Love  Land,  and 
Jessie's  cheeks  were  the  color  of  a  rose,  and  her 
eyes  full  of  light;  while  the  minister  was  almost 
boyishly  gay  and  satisfied. 

"How  went  the  organ  fight?"  asked  Alan  as 
soon  as  they  appeared. 

"Morandaroch  has  got  its  kirk  organ  by  a 
majority  of  one,"  said  Mr.  Laidlaw.  Then  he 
described  the  voting  and  the  dissenting,  and  the 
chatter  went  on  merrily  about  this  and  that  until 
Alan  spoke  of  poor  Earne's  dilemma,  and  asked 
the  minister  if  he  would  "like  to  see  the  trial  in 
the  morning." 

"No,"  he  answered,  his  face  becoming  serious 
and  even  gloomy.  "As  a  Scotsman,  Alan,  I 
cannot  help  feeling  anger  at  this  turning  of  the 
Highlands  into  a  great  hunting-ground  for  rich 
Englishmen.  A  Perth  farmer  whom  I  met  on 
the  Clansman  told  me  that  you  might  walk  from 
the  south  of  Perthshire  to  the  seaboard  of  Ros- 
shire  on  forest  ground,  and  that  from  Deeside 


Euphamia  Macrae  95 

to  Speyside  a  hundred  miles  at  a  stretch  you 
would  meet  nothing  but  deer.  He  said  that  from 
three  to  five  thousand  deer  and  even  more  than 
that  number  were  often  in  a  forest,  and  I  do  not 
think  such  things  are  to  Scotland's  honor  and 
welfare.  I  would  rather  see  sheep  and  shepherds 
than  deer  and  gamekeepers.  And  of  course  it  is 
hard  to  make  the  poor  Highland  man,  who  has 
for  centuries  had  the  game  on  the  hills,  feel  that 
he  must  not  touch  it." 

"This  time  it  is  not  the  game,  it  is  the  fishing 
nets." 

"But  the  game  is  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Shaw 
was  telling  me  the  trouble  they  had  had  with 
Earne  on  this  subject.  And  it  is  for  this  he  is 
hating  the  McDuffs.  I  cannot  go  and  see  Earne 
punished;  my  sympathy  is  with  him."  Then 
they  fell  into  an  argument  about  the  preservation 
of  game,  and  continued  it  with  some  anger  until 
Cousin  Thrift  reminded  them  "the  clock  had 
struck  twelve,  and  the  lasses  were  worn  out  for 
their  sleep." 

In  the  morning  Alan  had  made  up  his  mind 
not  to  go  to  the  trial.  There  were  some  business 
transactions  between  him  and  Shaw  McDuff 
which  required  at  least  the  semblance  of  friend 
ship  for  their  arrangement,  and  it  seemed  best 
not  to  rouse  any  bitter  feeling  while  they  were 
pending.  So  he  went  instead  to  the  boat,  where 


96  Souls  of  Passage 

he  found  Earne  picking  a  herring  and  drinking 
a  mug  full  of  hot,  sweet  tea.  He  looked  happy 
and  unconcerned,  and  lifted  a  face  lit  with  admi 
ration  and  love  to  his  master's. 

"Good-morning,  Earne !" 

"Good-morning  to  yourself,  sir !" 

"Have  you  forgotten  the  trial  about  the  nets, 
Earne?" 

"I  have  not  forgotten  it,  sir.  But  it  will  not 
be  for  more  than  two  hours  as  yet.  My  cousin 
will  be  minding  the  boat  when  I  am  leaving  her. 
I  was  not  forgetting  the  boat,  sir." 

"The  Macrae  told  me  last  night,  Earne,  that 
he  did  not  see  how  you  were  to  escape  punish 
ment  this  time.  Why  did  you  cut  McDufFs 
nets?" 

"I  am  hating  the  McDuffs,  from  the  beginning 
to  the  end.  My  dirk  was  in  a  temper  at  them 
that  day,  and  it  was  a  very  good  thing  for  Mc- 
Duff  I  was  coming  across  the  nets,  and  not 
himself." 

"Peter  lays  the  damage  at  twenty  pounds." 

"I  wish  it  had  been  more  than  that." 

"But  you  will  have  it  to  pay." 

"That  is  the  law.  It  is  a  bad  law,  but  I  was 
not  making  it." 

"Macrae  says  that  if  you  cannot  pay  the 
money  you  will  have  to  go  to  prison." 

"I  cannot  go  to  prison — not  at  all.    I  am  not 


Euphamia  Macrae  97 

able  to  sleep  with  four  walls  round  me.  I  want 
the  heather  and  all  Ben  Macrae,  or  else  the  boat 
and  the  North  Minch.  I  will  not  be  going  to 
prison;  moreover,  here  is  the  boat." 

"And  I  am  not  going  to  let  McDuff  send  you 
to  prison  for  twenty  pounds.  Here  is  the  money 
in  one-pound  bills,  and  when  you  hear  what  is 
to  pay,  pay  it." 

The  poor  lad  with  his  wild,  handsome  face 
and  tangled  hair  looked  at  Alan  with  indescrib 
able  emotion.  For  some  moments  he  was 
unable  to  speak,  then  he  dropped  upon  his 
knees  and  kissed  the  hand  that  held  out  to  him 
the  price  of  his  freedom. 

"It  is  the  mercy  of  God!"  he  sobbed — "it  is 
His  mercy !  He  was  knowing  about  poor  Earne, 
and  pitying  him.  For  I  was  telling  Him  all  about 
the  McDuffs  last  night,  and  I  was  sure  He  would 
be  sending  me  some  help.  Yes,  I  was  saying  to 
myself  since  the  day  broke,  The  help  will  come, 
for  the  help  was  promised;  there  was  a  word  to 
me  last  night,  and  I  was  knowing  what  it  meant. 
So  I  was  waiting.  And  I  will  never  forget  that 
God  Himself  was  sending  you;  and  I  will  never 
forget  you,  and  I  will  be  paying  this  kindness 
back,  some  way  or  other;  living  or  dead,  I  will 
be  paying  it  back ;  living  or  dead,  I  will  be  paying 
it  back;  that  is  my  promise." 

Then  Alan  sent  him  with  his  Cousin  Luthe 


98  Souls  of  Passage 

to  the  office  of  the  magistrate,  and  he  himself 
remained  on  the  boat.  He  had  plenty  to  think 
about,  and  the  time  went  quickly  enough  until 
about  one  o'clock,  when  Earne  and  his  cousin 
returned  to  the  Lapwing  together.  Alan  could 
hear  their  shrill,  sibilating  Gaelic  some  distance 
away,  and  he  knew  from  its  tone  that  things  had 
gone  satisfactorily  for  Earne.  And  when  they 
came  on  board  there  was  an  unmistakable  air 
of  triumph  in  the  set  of  Earne's  bonnet  and  in 
the  pride  of  his  step.  He  looked  at  Alan  with 
unspeakable  gratitude — almost  with  adoration 
— and  then  went  straight  to  his  duty,  leaving  his 
Cousin  Luthe  to  tell  his  story. 

"It  is  all  right  now,  sir,"  said  Luthe,  "and  the 
trouble  is  over.  Indeed,  it  was  not  that  bad. 
The  Macrae  was  shaking  hands  with  myself — 
he  was  very  civil  with  me — but  the  fine  to  pay 
for  all  that — as  was  right.  Earne  not  caring, 
though — he  had  his  pleasure  whatever." 

"You  were  not  long  in  settling  the  matter." 
"Why  would  we  be  long?  The  Macrae  called 
the  witnesses,  and  they  were  telling  this  and 
that,  so  Earne  spoke  for  himself.  'It  is  great 
nonsense,'  he  said,  'minding  what  Ian  Black  and 
Janet  McDuff  and  the  others  will  be  saying.  I 
cut  the  nets  with  my  own  hand  and  my  own 
dirk,  and  I  am  not  denying  it;  and  what,  then,  is 
the  use  of  taking  up  the  Macrae's  time,  and  the 


AND    I    WILL   NEVER    FORGET   '1  HAT    li(il)    HIMSELF    WAS 
SENDING   YOU.'  " 


Euphamia  Macrae  99 

time,  moreover,  that  Mr.  Alan  Mackenzie  is 
paying  me  for?'  Then  the  Macrae  said,  'The 
fault  is  acknowledged,  and  the  damage  is  esti 
mated.  Six  fishermen  here  say  that  ten  pounds' 
worth  of  nets  have  been  spoiled — that  is  the  loss 
at  the  very  utmost — some  are  saying  not  more 
than  five  pounds.  Then  Peter  McDuff  said,  'The 
damage  is  as  much  as  twenty  pounds;'  and  Shaw 
McDuff  stood  up  to  speak  his  mind  also,  but 
the  Macrae  was  not  hearing  them  at  all;  he  went 
on  talking  to  Earne;  and  'Earne,'  he  said,  'the 
act  was  wilful,  and  moreover  malicious,  and  the 
Court  fines  you  ten  pounds  for  the  ill  will.  So 
that  is  twenty  pounds,  Earne;  and  if  you  can 
pay  it,  pay  the  money  now;  and  if  you  cannot  pay 
it,  you  must  go  to  jail  and  pay  it  with  your 
work/  'The  sentence  is  scandalously  light/  said 
Peter  McDuff  in  a  great  passion;  and  this  time 
the  Macrae  was  hearing  him,  and  he  answered 
him,  'You  are  not  the  Court,  and  you  are  not 
the  counsel,  McDuff,  and  you  will  be  bringing 
yourself  in  for  contempt  of  the  Court,  if  you  are 
not  taking  more  care  of  your  words;'  and  then 
he  asked,  'Can  you  pay  the  money,  Earne?'  And 
Earne  said,  'I  can  pay  the  money,  Macrae,  and 
I  am  glad  to  pay  the  money.'  And  he  walked 
up  to  the  table,  and  he  counted  out  the  twenty 
notes  one  by  one;  and  said  he,  'There  are  twenty 
one-pound  notes  of  the  great  Bank  of  Scotland, 


ioo  Souls  of  Passage 

and  I  am  sorry  for  the  dirty  road  the  bits  of 
paper  are  taking;'  and  then  the  Macrae  said,  very 
stern  like,  'You  are  dismissed,  Earne  Macrae;' 
and  with  that  Earne  put  on  his  bonnet  and 
walked  past  the  men  who  are  hating  him;  and 
his  heart  was  proud,  and  he  was  looking  proud 
enough  to  vex  the  devil  as  well  as  the  McDuffs. 
And  a  many  people  were  showing  Earne  that 
they  were  glad  that  he  was  free." 

"However,  tell  Earne  that  he  must  not  buy 
any  more  ill  will  from  the  McDuffs.  It  is  not 
safe.  He  will  go  too  far  some  day." 

"I  was  telling  him  the  same  thing,  sir.  The 
McDuffs  are  ill  to  their  friends  and  worse  to 
their  foes,  and  even  their  shadow  is  unlucky.  It 
is  a  good  thing  to  keep  beyond  it.  It  is,  indeed." 

Alan  had  these  words  in  his  mind  when  he 
met  Shaw  McDuff  on  the  village  street.  His 
face  was  black  and  angry,  and  when  Alan  said, 
Good-afternoon,  Shaw,"  he  answered : 

"Little  thanks  to  you,  Mr.  Mackenzie,  for 
interfering  in  our  affairs.  It  has  cost  you  a  few 
pounds  to-day;  take  care,  or  it  may  cost  you 
many  more  pounds  some  other  day.  I  am  not 
apt  to  forget  my  debts — if  you  are." 

"I  was  interfering  in  my  own  affairs,  Shaw. 
Earne  is  necessary  to  my  boat,  and  I  would  have 
paid  many  more  pounds  rather  than  lose  him." 


Euphamia  Macrae  101 

"He  has  been  cutting  our  nets,  and  I  believe 
he  was  in  your  employ  when  he  did  so." 

"You  have  been  paid  for  your  nets.  Why 
should  you  be  angry  at  a  poor,  ignorant  lad  like 
Earne?" 

"Ian  Macrae  was  at  his  back — and  perhaps 
others." 

"And  if  any  poor  McDuff  was  in  trouble,  I 
am  sure  you  would  be  at  his  back.  You  know 
you  would.  Come  up  the  hill  with  me." 

"I  have  this  and  that  to  look  after,  and  my 
father  is  not  for  letting  this  matter  drop.  I  shall 
stand  at  his  back,  no  matter  what  he  intends." 

"Shaw,  I  have  only  done  what  you  would  have 
done  in  the  same  circumstances.  How  was  I  to 
know  you  had  set  your  heart  on  sending  the 
poor  fellow  to  jail?  You  are  not  losing  money 
by  him,  what  then?" 

"We  are  losing  money,  for  we  are  losing 
standing  in  the  country  round.  He  was  cut 
ting  our  nets  for  simple  hatred,  and  every  one 
knows  it,  and  every  one  is  flattering  him  for 
daring  to  show  his  hatred  and  pay  out  twenty 
pounds  for  the  heart  pleasure  it  gave  him.  And 
in  his  heart  Ian  Macrae  was  proud  of  the  deed. 
The  sentence  was  just  a  joke  on  the  McDuffs; 
but  there  is  more  to  come  of  it  yet — the  McDuff 
lobster  fishers  are  making  a  personal  thing  of  it, 


1O2  Souls  of  Passage 

and  Earne  may  get  his  deserts  from  them,  if  he 
does  not  from  the  law." 

"I  am  astonished  at  you,  Shaw !  Such  a  fuss 
about  nothing  at  all!  The  law  punished  Earne 
sufficiently,  and  if  I  for  my  own  comfort  chose 
to  help  Earne  bear  his  punishment,  that  is  my 
affair.  Of  course,  Earne  will  eventually  pay  his 
fine.  I  shall  take  it  gradually  off  his  wage.  The 
law  cannot  object  to  one  man  lending  another 
man  twenty  pounds,  nor,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
giving  him  twenty.  Let  the  subject  drop.  Mr. 
Laidlaw  goes  away  in  two  days;  he  will  be  dis 
appointed  if  you  do  not  come  and  dine  with  him 
to-night." 

"Mr.  Laidlaw  was  not  in  court.  He  did  not 
sympathize  with  Earne  by  his  presence." 

"Then  you  can  come  and  break  bread  with 
him." 

"I  can  come  if,  in  the  meantime,  I  can  manage 
to  soothe  my  father.  At  present  he  is  feeling 
after  the  Macrae,  and  he  will  not  be  long  ere  he 
lays  his  hand  heavy  on  him." 

"Such  ill  will  over  a  poor  fisherman !  I  never 
heard  tell  of  anything  like  it.  What  did  you 
want  done  to  Earne?" 

"A  century  ago  we  would  have  hung  him 
ourselves;  fifty  years  ago  the  law  would  have 
hung  him;  we  wanted  him  sent  for  a  few  years 
to  the  quarries  at  hard  labor,  under  ball  and 


Euphamia  Macrae  103 

chain.  That  is  the  sentence  he  ought  to  have 
got,  and  would  have  got,  if  any  one  but  Ian 
Macrae  had  been  on  the  bench." 

"It  would  have  been  a  most  cruel  sentence; 
and  as  we  are  to  be  forgiven  or  punished  just  as 
we  forgive  or  punish  those  who  trespass  against 
us,  might  it  not  have  been  more  cruel  to  your 
self  than  to  Earne?  For  it  is  a  terrible  thing 
to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  living  God." 

"You  are  not  in  the  ministry,  Alan  Mackenzie, 
and  preaching  comes  ill  from  your  lips." 

"It  comes  ill  from  no  one  who  is  sincere,  and 
I  feel  with  all  my  soul  what  I  have  said.  Come, 
Shaw,  look  over  the  offence.  I  promise  you,  if 
Earne  ever  cuts  your  nets  again  to  discharge 
him." 

Then  Shaw,  with  a  reluctant  grace,  took  the 
hand  Alan  offered,  and  said  he  would  try  and 
make  it  possible  to  spend  the  evening  at  the 
castle.  Indeed,  he  had  no  intention  of  relinquish 
ing  the  position  he  had  gained  at  Dunbrack.  It 
was  only  because  of  Alan's  known  good-nature 
that  he  had  ventured  to  show  his  own  ill  temper 
in  such  an  unmistakable  manner.  But  the  little 
bluster  and  boast  and  threat  had  satisfied  his 
pride,  and  Alan's  frank  apology  left  him  free  to 
continue  his  relations  with  the  family. 

"Why,"  he  reflected,  "should  I  lose  the  good, 
dinners  and  the  good  company  incident  to  Dun- 


104  Souls  of  Passage 

brack?  Flora  and  Fame  are  now  inseparable, 
and  I  am  not  going  to  be  deprived  of  the  society 
of  both  girls,  and  leave  them  entirely  under 
Alan's  influence.  No!  a  thousand  times  no!" 
he  muttered  with  a  passionate  stamp  of  his  foot. 
"I  am  determined  to  win  the  love  of  Flora  Dun- 
brack;  and  as  for  Fame,  I  can  easily  keep  her  so 
fond  of  me  that  she  will  not  listen  to  a  word 
Mackenzie  says.  Fame  loves  me;  of  course  she 
loves  me;  she  always  has  loved  me;  she  never 
knew  any  one  else  to  love — but  Mackenzie — 
and  I  notice  that  she  is  very  shy  with  him.  I 
have  a  great  mind  to  tell  him  that  Fame  and 
I  are  engaged;  it  will  put  him  off  his  guard  about 
Flora,  and  keep  him  from  trying  any  of  his  con 
founded  blandishments  on  Fame.  For  she 
might  fall  under  his  spell;  he  certainly  pleases 
women,  though  why  or  how  is  a  puzzle  to  me. 
He  is  not  as  tall  as  I  am,  he  has  not  as  fine  a 
build  as  I  have,  he  has  no  dignity,  and  I  am 
noted  for  the  dignity  of  my  manner;  he  is  but 
a  poor  talker — unless  it  be  on  theology — and  if 
it  comes  to  singing  or  dancing,  he  might  take 
some  lessons  from  me.  I  have  as  good  or  better 
chances  with  either  girl  as  he  has,  and  I  am  not 
going  to  give  them  up.  That  is  what  he  would 
like  me  to  do.  No,  thank  you,  Alan  Mackenzie, 
I  shall  get  the  better  of  you  yet." 

So  he  went  up  to  Dunbrack  that  night,  and 


Euphamia  Macrae  105 

under  a  pretence  of  a  visit  to  a  Caledonian  Club 
at  the  little  inn  went  in  his  handsomest  High 
land  dress.  It  was  exceedingly  becoming  to 
him.  He  looked  the  chief  to  perfection;  for  his 
stately  figure  and  martial  air  were  admirably 
expressed  in  the  splendor  of  his  picturesque 
costume  and  the  jewelled  dirk  in  his  belt.  Even 
his  dark  red  hair,  curling  close  around  his  brow, 
appeared  to  be  precisely  what  the  dress  required; 
and  inwardly  he  felt  all  the  romance  and  valor 
of  the  kilt  and  philabeg,  the  plaid  and  the  dirk. 
His  eyes  shone  beneath  his  brows,  and  his  fair 
face  was  flushed  with  this  air  of  bygone  glories 
and  triumphs. 

"He  looks  like  Ajax  or  Achilles,"  said  Flora 
to  Fame.  "Why  do  men  wear  plain  clothes 
when  they  might  do  themselves  justice?" 

"They  only  dress  up  when  they  are  going  to 
kill  each  other,"  replied  Fame;  "and  I  don't 
think  Ajax  or  Achilles  was  at  all  like  Shaw. 
Perhaps  Woden  or  Balder  would  be  better. 
Balder  had  red  hair,  I  believe." 

"But  he  is  really  handsome  to-night,  Fame. 
Do  you  not  think  so?" 

"Shaw  varies,"  Fame  replied.  "I  am  sure, 
however,  that  he  thinks  himself  handsome.  Be 
sides,  his  father  will  have  told  him  so  twenty 
times  to-night  already.  I  propose  we  ignore  the 
circumstance." 


106  Souls  of  Passage 

It  was,  however,  impossible  to  ignore  it. 
Shaw  expressed  the  fact  in  his  every  movement, 
in  his  unusual  civilities  and  officiousness.  He 
enjoyed  walking  about  the  large,  well-furnished 
room;  he  felt  that  he  was  ornamental  to  it,  and 
that  things  were  improved  by  an  association 
with  him. 

At  first  Alan  was  amused  by  this  little  drama 
of  conscious  physical  beauty,  and  he  sat  watch 
ing  it  without  any  resentment  until  he  noticed 
Shaw's  marked  attention  to  Flora.  He  had 
asked  him  to  dinner  with  the  express  information 
that  the  minister's  visit  was  nearly  over,  and  that 
he  would  enjoy  a  last  conversation  with  him. 
But  Shaw  appeared  to  think  that  with  the  mili 
tary  kilt  and  jacket  the  society  of  ladies  was  the 
only  correct  thing.  And,  somehow  or  other,  he 
carried  the  evening;  even  Jessie  was  attracted 
by  his  physical  ascendency,  and  perhaps  more  so 
by  the  domination  of  his  powerful  will  exerting 
itself  to  maintain  that  ascendency. 

Alan  made  no  effort  to  dispute  Shaw's  tri 
umph.  With  an  apparent  unconcern  he  reclined 
in  a  large  chair  by  the  open  window,  and  chatted 
to  Mr.  Laidlaw  or  his  mother  or  either  of  the 
girls  who  came  near  him.  His  smile  was  as 
bright,  his  manner  as  cheerful,  as  if  there  was  no 
Shaw  McDuff  in  the  room;  but  there  was  a 


Euphamia  Macrae  107 

tumult  in  the  depths  of  his  heart  which  made 
him  tremble.  Something  there  was  crying  pas 
sionately,  "The  silly,  vain,  conceited  cad !  Does 
he  think  good  women  can  be  caught  with  tartan 
and  horsehair  and  a  velvet  jacket?  I  have  as 
much  right  to  wear  the  Highland  dress  as  he 
has,  and  I  will  get  a  suit  of  the  Mackenzie  tartan 
which  shall  make  the  McDuff  caparison  mean 
and  tawdry  and  shabby."  But  after  a  moment's 
reflection  he  thought  far  more  positively,  "No; 
I  will  not  make  my  heart  and  soul  mean  and 
tawdry  and  shabby  in  order  to  render  McDuff's 
small  vanity  a  failure."  And  this  resolve  at  once 
strengthened  him.  He  shook  off  the  languor 
of  incipient  chagrin,  asked  Jessie  to  play  them 
a  strathspey,  and  led  Flora  out  to  dance  it  with 
him.  It  was  not  what  Shaw  desired;  it  would 
be  sharing  honors  too  much,  but  no  excuse  was 
possible,  and  though  Alan  had  not  thought  of 
the  proposal  in  that  light,  the  dancing  did  equal 
ize  matters.  Alan's  evening  suit  looked  fittest 
for  the  dance,  for  it  is  not  given  to  man  to  appear 
martial  and  festive  at  the  same  time. 

Two  days  after  this  evening  of  strained  civili 
ties  Mr.  Laidlaw  and  Mrs.  Mackenzie  returned 
to  Glasgow.  She  intended  to  bring  the  provost 
back  to  Dunbrack  with  her,  and  then  would 
come  the  month  of  August  and  the  advent  of 


io8  Souls  of  Passage 

the  men  ready  for  slaughter.  Every  one  missed 
the  minister,  for,  in  spite  of  some  ecclesiastical 
peculiarities,  he  had  shown  himself  to  be  a  man 
of  sincere  character  and  not  unamiable  disposi 
tion.  Jessie  wept  a  little,  and  was  silent  and 
forlorn  for  a  few  days,  and  then  she  went  with 
a  double  earnestness  to  her  bridal  preparations. 
They  had  been  delayed  by  her  lover's  presence 
and  there  was  a  great  deal  of  work  to  be  over 
taken.  But  Flora  and  Fame  offered  their  help, 
and  found  sitting  together  over  the  dainty  gar 
ments  a  delightful  way  of  spending  the  last  hot 
days  of  July. 

The  intimacy  of  the  girls  had  become  more 
and  more  sisterly;  they  were  not  happy  apart; 
they  dressed  alike;  they  had  the  same  opinions 
and  almost  the  same  thoughts.  They  were 
proud  of  each  other,  and  they  loved  each  other 
after  a  womanly  fashion,  which  is  only  calculable 
without  the  masculine  element.  As  yet,  this 
element  had  not  been  an  interfering  one;  but  it 
was  impossible  to  say  how  long  it  would  be 
quiescent.  They  spoke  freely  of  Alan  and  Shaw; 
it  was  their  custom  to  make  pleasant  remarks 
about  them;  but  these  remarks  were  only  super 
ficial;  they  consisted  of  opinions  and  criticisms 
as  to  their  dress,  manners,  conversation,  or 
appearance;  but  they  were  just  such  criticisms 
as  any  girls  coming  in  contact  with  certain 


Euphamia  Macrae  109 

young  men  were  likely  to  make.  Thus,  one 
morning  Flora  said : 

"I  think  Shaw  looked  very  well  last  night. 
The  Highland  dress  becomes  him;"  and  Fame 
answered : 

"A  great  deal  depends  upon  wearing  it  con 
stantly.  Shaw  has  the  habit  of  wearing  it,  and 
therefore  wears  it  well.  When  men  put  it  on 
now  and  then  they  are  awkward  and  self-con 
scious." 

"Do  you  like  Shaw's  hair,  Fame?" 

"You  mean  the  color?  Yes;  I  think  it  suits 
him.  Red  hair  seems  precisely  right  on  Shaw. 
But  I  like  best  hair  the  color  of  Alan's.  I  think 
Alan  is  so  gentlemanly." 

"And  good-natured." 

"And  good-hearted." 

"He  would  not  hurt  anything.  He  only 
bought  his  dog  Bevis  two  weeks  ago,  and  the 
creature  idolizes  him." 

"To  be  sure,  Flora;  dogs  know  whom  to 
idolize." 

"And  yet  Sykes's  dog,  according  to  Dickens, 
loved  a  very  bad  man."  This  was  Flora's  re 
mark,  and  Fame  answered  with  a  sigh,  "Well, 
Sykes  was  a  good  man  in  his  dog's  opinion,  and 
you  know  'opinion  is  the  rate  of  things.' ' 

"So  it  is,"  answered  Flora,  finishing  the 
quotation : 


no  Souls  of  Passage 

"  'From  hence  our  blessings  flow, 
I  have  a  better  fate  than  kings, 
Because  I  think  it  so.' " 


Then  holding  up  the  lawn  tie  she  was  ruffling 
with  lace,  "Is  it  not  pretty?  Just  fit  for  a  minis 
ter's  bride."  And  before  Fame  could  answer  she 
had  let  her  thoughts  wander  to  the  "Logan 
Lee,"  and  was  singing  with  all  its  mirthful 
abandon : 

"Some  say  that  I  love  young  Polmood, 

And  some  say  he  loves  not  me ; 
But  I  think  I'm  a  match  for  the  best  of  his  blood, 
Though  I  had  not  a  ewe  on  the  Logan  Lee" 

Such  bits  of  talk,  with  numberless  variations, 
accompanied  their  busy  fingers,  and  were  not 
unfrequently  varied  by  others  of  a  far  different 
order;  for  Fame  had  below  her  quick,  passionate 
temperament  a  layer  of  feeling  strangely  sensi 
tive  to  the  supernatural  and  a  tendency  con 
tinually  to  revert  to  it.  She  was  a  great 
dreamer  and  a  fervid  believer  in  dreams,  and 
there  was  much  in  Flora's  nature  which  re 
sponded  to  Fame's  faith  in  the  unseen.  For 
Flora  had  inherited  through  her  father  the 
pensive,  poetic,  superstitious  Highland  tempera- 
ment^which  is  the  very  antipodes  of  the  Low 
land  theological  materialism;  and  therefore, 
though  Fame's  ideas  were  strange  and  unauthor- 


Euphamia  Macrae  1 1 1 

ized,  something  within  Flora  encouraged  their 
discussion. 

One  morning  as  soon  as  they  had  seated  them 
selves  and  the  needles  began  to  glint  through 
the  white  cloth,  Fame  said,  "I  had  such  a  strange 
dream  this  morning.  I  came  wide-awake  out 
of  it,  as  if  some  one  had  said  to  me,  There,  now, 
the  vision  is  over.'  I  thought  I  saw  a  soldier 
lying  wounded  in  a  trench,  and  when  he  turned 
his  face  to  me  it  was  Alan  Mackenzie." 

"Of  all  unlikely  things,  that  is  the  most  un 
likely,  Fame.  Alan  will  never  be  a  soldier." 

"Who  knows?  Dreams— come  how  it  may — 
do  read  the  future.  God  in  all  ages  has  spoken 
to  men  in  dreams  and  by  the  oracles  that  dwell 
in  darkness.  Dreams  are  large  possessions;  how 
poor  I  would  be  without  my  night  visions!  I 
think  we  may  have  senses  that  are  only  roused 
when  we  are  asleep." 

"Once,"  said  Flora,  "I  had  a  dream  which 
my  father  read  to  me  in  such  a  way  that  I  have 
never  forgot  it.  Besides,  it  was  just  before  his 
death,  and  to  him  it  came  sweetly  true,  I  have 
no  doubt.  I  thought  I  was  wandering  wretch 
edly  over  great  hills,  tired,  cold,  and  alone;  and 
then  I  opened  my  eyes,  and  I  was  in  my  own 
dear  home,  and  the  fire  was  burning  brightly, 
and  the  tea  table  set,  and  father  was  wjatching 
me,  and  waiting  until  I  woke  up.  And  when  I 


ii2  Souls  of  Passage 

crept  close  into  his  arms  and  told  him  my  dream 
he  said.  "It  was  just  that  way  with  earth  pil 
grims;  when  all  the  joy  of  life  was  gone,  and 
they  were  lonely  and  full  of  sorrows,  they  woke 
up  some  morning  in  the  Paradise  of  God,  and 
found  all  they  had  lost  there." 

"That  was  a  beautiful  reading  of  a  dream," 
answered  Fame.  "Say  what  you  will,  I  know 
that  when  I  am  sleeping  my  spirit  often  goes  out 
of  the  body,  and  is  spoken  to  by  other  spirits 
who  are  out  of  the  body  at  the  same  time.  They 
meet,  and  often  messages  and  warnings  are  thus 
given : 

"  'After  midnight,  when  dreams  fall, 
Somewhat  before  the  morning  gray, 
I,  wandering  so  gaily  over  the  world 
From  my  tired  limbs  at  home,' 

see  and  hear  many  strange  things.  It  is  so. 
Father  often  says  the  night-time  of  the  body  is 
the  day-time  of  the  soul." 

"So,  then,  Fame,  if  we  are  dreamers,  we  really 
live  two  lives  here?" 

"Yes;  one  while  we  are  fully  awake,  another 
while  we  are  fully  asleep.  At  the  border  line, 
between  sleeping  and  waking,  when  the  impres 
sions  of  each  state  meet,  we  often  receive  from 
our  inner  selves  admonishings,  forebodings,  and 
warnings  in  regard  to  the  future." 


Euphamia  Macrae  1 1 3 

"However,  Fame,  I  do  not  think  your  inner 
self  told  you  the  truth  about  Alan.  I  cannot 
conceive  of  any  circumstance  likely  to  take  him 
to  the  army.  It  is  a  profession  he  has  no  inclina 
tion  for.  He  might  desire  to  be  a  minister,  but 
a  soldier!  that  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  His 
father  and  mother  delight  in  him;  they  would 
not  listen  to  such  a  thing,  even  if  he  wished  it." 

"I  think  he  is  a  delightful  young  man." 

Then  Flora  looked  at  Fame  with  a  quick 
suspicion,  but  it  was  instantly  banished  by  the 
girl's  face  and  manner,  which  were  only  pleas 
antly  indifferent.  So  she  answered,  "Every  one 
thinks  Alan  delightful.  I  wonder  if  that  is 
good?  Perhaps,  if  some  people  disliked  him,  it 
might  be  more  in  his  favor." 

"Well,  then,  Shaw  dislikes  him  with  all  his 
soul." 

"Oh,  Fame,  that  is  incredible!  How  can  you 
say  such  a  thing?" 

"He  does.  I  know  Shaw  McDuff.  I  am 
knowing  him  well  all  my  life.  I  see  the  look  no 
one  else  sees — I  hear — I  feel — I  know." 

"Why  should  he  hate  Alan?" 

"Hate  does  not  require  a  reason." 

"You  could  not  persuade  Alan  that  Shaw 
hated  him." 

"I  am  not  sure  of  that.  Hate  must  make  itself 
felt." 


1 1 4  Souls  of  Passage 

"Hate  is  not  greater  than  love,  and  where  love 
is  hate  cannot  come.  So  Alan  may  not  feel  it. 
The  love  of  mother,  sister,  friends  must  have 
more  influence  than  the  hate  of  one  person." 

"Hate  can  kill." 

"Love  can  make  alive,  then." 

"I  wish  father  was  here;  he  would  explain 
what  I  mean;  however,  mind  what  I  say,  Shaw 
McDuff  does  not  love  Alan  Mackenzie,  and  that 
will  be  seen  and  heard  tell  of." 

"I  am  sorry  you  have  said  it.  Come,  let  us 
go  into  the  garden,  till  the  wind  blows  the  words 
out  of  the  room.  They  hurt  me,  Fame." 

Yet  at  that  very  hour  Alan  and  Shaw  were 
having  no  very  friendly  conversation.  Alan  had 
gone  early  down  to  the  sea,  and  was  lazily  read 
ing  a  novel  as  the  boat  rocked  with  the  full  tide 
at  her  pier.  Earne  was  cleaning  the  already 
bright  brass  work,  and  singing  softly  "The 
Rover  of  Lochryan"  when  Shaw  walked  forward 
and  stepped  on  board  the  Lapwing.  Alan  called 
out  cheerfully: 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Shaw.  Come  into  the 
shade." 

"I  was  going  past,  and  you  looked  so  comfort 
able  under  your  blowing  awning  that  I  could 
not  resist  a  call." 

"I  was  just  going  to  have  a  cup  of  coffee  and 
a  smoke.  Will  you  join  me?" 


Euphamia  Macrae  1 1 5 

"Yes;  I  should  like  to." 

The  coffee  was  soon  ready,  and  the  young 
men  drank  it  and  smoked  for  some  time  in  a 
contented  silence.  Shaw  was  the  first  to  break  it. 
"I  wonder  if  Fame  Macrae  is  still  at  Dunbrack?" 
he  asked;  and  Alan  answered  readily,  "She  was 
there  when  I  left  home  this  morning-,  I  am 
happy  to  say." 

"I  want  to  see  her  very  much." 

"Then  you  must  go  up  to  Dunbrack." 

"That  is  not  what  I  like.  I  think  she  ought 
to  be  more  at  home." 

"I  suppose  she  knows  best  where  she  ought 
to  be.  I  don't  think  it  is  our  business,  Shaw." 

"Not  your  business,  perhaps,  but  certainly 
mine.  Of  course,  it  is  a  good  thing  for  Fame 
to  be  in  Miss  Flora's  company — I  am  not  deny 
ing  that — but  I  want  her  nearer  at  hand." 

"Perhaps  she  may  oblige  you,  if  you  ask  her," 
answered  Alan  coldly.  "My  opinion  is,  she  will 
be  apt  to  do  just  as  she  wants  to  do.  She  has 
a  will  to  match  her  beauty,  and  that  is  saying 
a  great  deal." 

"I  have  been  thinking  for  some  time,  Alan, 
that  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  Fame  and  I  are 
engaged.  She  is  very  handsome,  and  I — " 

"You  thought  you  had  better  put  up  the 
warning,  'No  trespassing.'  Thank  you,  Shaw." 

And  Alan  took  the  information  so  coolly  that 


1 1 6  Souls  of  Passage 

Shaw  had  a  feeling  of  intense  mortification.  He 
looked  angrily,  yes  hatefully,  at  the  complacent 
young  man,  lazily  puffing  the  smoke  of  his  cigar 
windward;  and  wondered  what  he  could  say  to 
ruffle  his  aggravating  serenity.  He  had  not 
decided  on  any  words  strong  enough,  when  Alan 
continued : 

"I  congratulate  you,  Shaw.  Fame  is  a  beauty, 
and  in  other  respects  a  most  charming  woman. 
Very  few  men  could  be  worthy  of  her." 

"She  thinks  Shaw  McDuff  is;  I  am  not  saying 
she  is  right." 

"No." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Nothing  but  what  I  said;  you  are  a  lucky 
man." 

"I  saw  how  much  you  admired  her,  and  I — " 

"You  were  not  jealous,  surely?  I  assure  you 
there  is  not  the  slightest  reason." 

"Jealous!  There  is  not  a  man  in  the  High 
lands,  no,  nor  in  all  Scotland,  I  would  be  jealous 
of.  Fame  and  I  understand  each  other.  She 
has  grown  up  at  my  side.  I  may  say  that  I  have 
formed  her  mind — made  her  all  she  is.  Ian 
Macrae,  her  father,  has  been  a  poor  dreaming, 
not  overly  wise  creature  the  last  few  years." 

"Oh,  but  he  is  a  lawyer  and  a  magistrate." 

"What  kind  of  one,  pray?    He  is  the  Macrae, 


Euphamia  Macrae  117 

and  that  accounts  for  his  popularity.  Macraes 
are  in  the  majority  round  here." 

"And  you  feared  I  might  fall  in  love  with 
Fame,  and  wished  to  spare  me  the  pain  of  a 
refusal?  You  are  kind,  Shaw.  Will  you  believe 
that  I  never  entertained  such  an  idea?  All  the 
same,  thanks!  Take  one  more  cup  of  coffee." 

"No,  thank  you.  I  had  better  go  now.  Any 
discussion  of  this  subject  might  end  in  some 
misunderstanding." 

"But  there  is  no  need  to  discuss  the  subject; 
for,  as  I  said  before,  I  never  felt  any  desire  to 
fall  in  love  with  Fame." 

Then  there  was  silence,  and  Alan  calmly  lit 
another  cigar.  His  manner  was  so  polite,  his 
face  so  indifferent,  that  Shaw  could  not  make 
either  a  ground  of  complaint;  and  yet  he  was 
irritated  and  humbled  beyond  speech.  He  had 
come  with  news  which  he  expected  would  make 
a  sensation,  and  Alan  had  taken  it  as  if  it  was 
a  weather  report.  He  had  thought  to  put  Alan 
under  an  obligation  by  his  frank  avowal,  and 
Alan  had  disclaimed  all  necessity  for  it.  He  was 
almost  in  the  position  of  a  man  who  has  had 
a  gift  refused,  and  his  heart  burned  with  a  sense 
of  defeat  and  vexation.  He  took  himself  off  the 
boat  with  that  air  of  high-spirited  bravado  which 
generally  hides  the  white  feather  somewhere, 


1 1 8  Souls  of  Passage 

and  went  stamping  along  the  village  street  to 
thoughts  of  furious  anger  and  revenge. 

"He  never  felt  any  desire  to  fall  in  love  with 
Fame!  That  is  a  lie!"  he  muttered;  "or  else  he 
is  in  love  with  Flora.  Confound  his  cool,  calm 
impudence!  He  never  felt  any  desire  to  fall  in 
love  with  Fame!  Oh!  oh!  oh!"  and  the  bitter 
laugh  with  which  he  emphasized  the  ejaculations 
was  vocal  with  the  hatred  he  could  not  then 
utter. 

As  for  Alan,  he  sat  quite  still,  smoking  and 
thinking  for  a  long  time;  and  in  that  passionate 
pause  of  time,  will  it  be  believed,  there  first  of 
all  came  to  him  not  only  a  desire  to  love  Fame, 
but  also  a  sudden  revelation  that  Fame  already 
loved  him.  "I  have  been  blind,"  he  thought, 
"and  I  have  been  warned  off  before  I  trespassed 
— well,  then  what?"'  He  rose  hastily,  flung  his 
cigar  into  the  water,  and  cried  out,  "Get  under 
way,  Earne.  I  want  a  breath  of  the  sea." 

"There  is  not  much  sea  on,  sir;  only  a  north 
erly  lipper.  What  way  will  I  be  steering,  sir?" 

"Any  way  will  do  that  takes  me  far  enough 
away  from  land.  I  don't  want  any  more  callers, 
Earne." 

"I  must  be  alone — I  must  think — "  he  said  to 
himself;  and  he  lay  down  on  the  deck  of  the  boat 
and  considered  the  information  that  had  been 
given  him  by  Shaw,  and  also  that  which  had 


Euphamia  Macrae  1 1 9 

been  revealed  to  him  by  his  own  heart.  No  man, 
however,  is  made  angry  by  the  knowledge,  how 
ever  unexpected,  that  he  is  beloved  by  a  beautiful 
woman;  and  if  Alan  had  any  such  feeling  it  was 
directed  against  his  own  stupidity  for  being  so 
blind  and  so  indifferent  to  what  he  easily  foresaw 
might  become  a  very  tragic  affair.  He  forced 
himself  to  recall  all  Flora's  sweetness  and  affec 
tion,  he  assured  himself  that  Flora,  and  only 
Flora,  had  his  love;  and  he  asked  his  heart  with 
a  little  indignant  amazement,  "Is  it  possible  that 
I  could  ever  love  any  other  woman?  Is  it  possi 
ble  I  could  ever  think  of  Fame  Macrae  with  any 
warmer  affection  than  sincere  admiring  friend 
ship?"  And  he  answered  his  heart  emphatically, 
"No!" 

For  he  did  not  reflect  that  the  first  step 
toward  any  wrong  deed  is  the  consideration  as 
to  whether  it  is  possible. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHO   WAS   TO   BLAME? 

THAT  night,  when  Alan  came  to  the  dinner- 
table  Fame  was  absent;  and  it  struck  him  as  it 
never  had  before  what  a  space  she  filled  in  their 
daily  life.  Flora  was  in  her  loveliest  mood,  with 
just  a  touch  of  her  old  contradiction;  and  he  was 
sensitive  enough  to  the  charm  of  her  personality ; 
yet  the  dark,  glowing,  fitful  Fame,  with  her  pretty 
follies  and  her  wise  sayings,  her  reeling  music  and 
her  martial  songs,  was  an  obvious  want,  even  to 
Jessie  and  Flora.  The  evening  went  slowly  away ; 
something  piquant,  almost  poignant  was  removed, 
and  Jessie  said : 

"How  dull  we  are  to-night !  I  wish  Fame  was 
here." 

"So  do  I,"  answered  Flora;  "I  am  lonely;  I 
think  I  am  stupid  without  her." 

"Why  did  she  go  away  ?"  asked  Alan,  in  a  tone 
of  indifference. 

"Shaw  McDuff  came  for  her.    He  said  she  was 


Who  Was  to  Blame?  121 

required  at  home.  I  think  he  came  to  exhibit  his 
new  dog-cart  and  the  fine  horse  he  has  bought  for 
it." 

"A  new  dog-cart,  eh,  Flora?  He  never  told 
me  he  was  going  to  get  a  dog-cart." 

"He  says  he  required  to  have  one  in  the  season. 
I  suppose  he  then  goes  about  a  great  deal.  He  is 
a  fine  shot,  and  fine  shots  are  welcome  at  all  the 
big  houses." 

There  was  a  long  pause  after  these  remarks. 
Jessie  was  writing  to  her  lover,  and  Alan,  sitting 
beside  Flora,  was  holding  her  ball  of  pink  wool, 
and  wondering  if  he  should  tell  what  he  had  heard 
of  Fame's  engagement.  Shaw  had  not  laid  any 
charge  of  secrecy  on  him.  His  call  for  Fame  had 
the  appearance  of  "proving  his  averments."  It 
seemed  as  if  he  wished  to  give  Alan  an  opportu 
nity  to  say,  "Fame  is  engaged  to  Shaw  McDuff, 
and  he  is  not  pleased  at  her  spending  so  much 
time  with  us."  At  any  rate,  "when  Jessie  had 
folded  and  sealed  her  letter,  and  brought  her  sew 
ing  beside  'Alan,  he  could  no  longer  keep  his 
informations 

"Flora,  Jessie,  what  do'  you  think  Shaw  told 
me  to-day  ?"  he  asked. 

"That  he  had  a  nearly  new  dog-cart  for  sale,  or 
a  fine  horse,  or  something  or  other  of  that  kind," 
answered  Flora  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders  and 
a  meaning  glance  at  her  lover. 


122  Souls  of  Passage 

"That  he  was  invited  to  the  Grants  of  Loch 
Grant,  or  that  the  Dunbars  of  Rossheath  were 
begging  his  company  before  the  rich  Englishman 
at  Benmorvan  Castle  could  secure  him,"  said 
Jessie. 

"Or  that  her  Majesty's  company  at  Balmoral 
would  not  be  complete  without  him,"  continued 
Flora.  "The  man  wearies  me  with  his  excel 
lences,  and  his  exaggerations,  and  his  expecta 
tions.  What  good  or  great  thing  is  there  he  does 
not  expect  ?" 

"He  made  me  his  confidant  to-day  concerning 
one  of  his  anticipated  good  things.  He  says  he 
is  engaged  to  Fame." 

"I  do  not  believe  one  word  of  such  a  story," 
replied  Flora  angrily. 

"Nor  do  I,"  added  Jessie.  "I  suppose  I  know 
how  an  engaged  man  ought  to  behave,  and  I  never 
saw  Shaw  McDuff  look  at  Fame,  or  speak  to  her, 
or  act  toward  her  as  if  they  were  engaged.  Com 
pare  his  behavior  with  the  behavior  of  my  James. 
That  settles  the  matter,  I  should  think." 

"I  do  not  believe  one  word  of  that  story,"  re 
iterated  Flora.  "Do  you  imagine  Fame  could 
have  been  constantly  with  me  for  weeks,  and 
never  have  said  anything  about  her  engagement  ? 
— unless,  indeed,  she  had  some  very  good  reason 
for  keeping  it  secret." 


Who  Was  to  Blame?  123 

"Shaw  says  they  have  been  engaged  from 
Fame's  childhood;  that  he  formed  Fame's  mind 
and  made  her  all  that  she  is;  so  there  can  be  no 
question  of  any  need  for  secrecy." 

"He  form  Fame's  mind !  Oh,  what  a — an  un 
truth  !"  cried  Flora.  "Why,  he  is  quite  unable  to 
understand  her.  He  does  not  approve  of  her 
queer  ideas,  and  there  have  been  times  when  I 
even  thought  he  did  not  admire  her  personally.  I 
shall  ask  Fame  a  question  or  two  when  I  see  her. 
I  do  not  believe  a  girl  of  her  straight,  upright 
nature  could  love  a  man  so  radically  false-hearted 
and  selfish  as  Shaw  McDuff." 

"You  must  remember,"  said  Alan,  "that  they 
have  grown  up  together,  and  that  for  nine  months 
every  year  Shaw  is  the  only  gentleman  in  the 
neighborhood  fit  for  Fame  to  associate  with." 

"As  for  growing  up  together,  I  do  not  count 
that  of  any  importance,"  said  Jessie.  "I  had  never 
seen  my  James  one  year  ago,  yet  at  the  first  of  our 
acquaintance  it  was  as  if  we  had  known  each  other 
forever." 

And  Alan  clasped  Flora's  hand  at  these  words, 
and  she  answered  the  appeal  with  a  smile  so  rav 
ishing  and  full  of  understanding  that  he  quite 
forgot  how  interesting  their  conversation  had  be 
come  until  Jessie  asked : 

"Why  did  he  tell  you  this  bit  of  news  just 


124  Souls  of  Passage 

now,  Alan?  Has  he  grown  jealous  of  you? 
Have  you  given  him  any  reason  to  be  jealous  of 
you?" 

Then  Flora  raised  her  eyes  from  her  work  and 
fixed  them  upon  Alan,  and  the  young  man  smiled 
confidently  back  at  her.  "I  never  gave  Shaw  the 
least  cause  for  jealousy,"  he  answered.  "You  have 
seen  me  constantly,  Jessie,  and  you  know  that  if 
I  have  shown  any  preference  it  has  been  for  Flora ; 
and  you  also  must  have  seen  how  Flora  received 
my  preferences.  With  Flora  so  undemonstrative 
and  Shaw  jealous  of  the  wrong  girl,  it  is  enough 
to  make  me  give  him  some  occasion  for  jealousy 
in  the  future." 

"That  would  be  dangerous,"  said  Jessie. 

"It  would  also  be  wrong  and  cruel,"  said  Flora. 
"You  might  unwittingly  win  love  you  did  not 
want,  and  wound  love  you  did  want." 

"I  am  not  the  man  to  do  either,"  answered  Alan 
with  a  glance  that  Flora  understood  in  its  full 
meaning.  And  at  that  hour  Alan  meant  all  that 
Flora  understood. 

"Well,"  continued  Jessie,  "I  have  only  one 
thing  to  say,  Alan ;  do  not  let  Shaw  drive  you  into 
temptation.  You  are  not  Saint  Anthony,  and 
Fame  is  a  very  potent  temptation." 

"I  have  a  talisman  against  her  charms,  Jessie. 
I  have  known  Fame  some  weeks,  and  not  fallen 
under  her  spell.  Am  I  likely  to  do  so  now?" 


Who  Was  to  Blame?  125 

"Circumstances  alter  cases;  there  might  come 
some  motive  hitherto  absent ;  and  then  ?" 

"Then  I  should  find  my  talisman  sufficient;" 
and  the  flash  of  intelligence  which  passed  between 
Alan  and  Flora  was  so  vivid,  that  even  Jessie's 
attention  was  arrested  and  she  looked  curiously  at 
the  two.  But  the  suspicion  was  a  fleeting  one,  and 
nothing  occurred  to  detain  or  strengthen  it. 

Three  days  passed  without  any  visit  from 
Fame,  and  the  family  at  Dunbrack  had  begun 
seriously  to  accept  Shaw's  story  of  the  engage 
ment. 

"Of  course,  she  is  doing  as  he  tells  her,"  said 
Jessie. 

"Of  course,  she  is  doing  nothing  of  the  kind," 
contradicted  Flora.  "She  may  be  engaged  to 
Shaw,  but  that  would  not  make  her  do  what  Shaw 
ordered  her  to  do.  I  should  say  it  would  have  a 
contrary  effect.  What  do  you  think,  Alan  ?" 

"I  think  if  Fame  wished  to  be  at  Dunbrack  she 
would  be  here  at  this  moment.  Then,  the  infer 
ence  is  that  some  one,  presumably  Shaw  McDuff, 
has  more  of  her  affection  than  we  have." 

"Affection  for  Shaw  McDuff!  It  is  quite  in 
conceivable.  No  one  but  a  mother  or  father  could 
love  him." 

"Oh,  but,  Flora,  you  are  prejudiced,"  answered 
Jessie;  "he  is  a  fine  young  man  every  way;  most 
women  would  like  him." 


126  Souls  of  Passage 

"I  think  better  of  'most  women'  than  you  do, 
Jessie." 

Circumstantial  evidence  was  indeed  against 
Fame,  but  it  was  as  apparently  true  and  as  really 
false  as  it  generally  is.  Fame  had  remained  away 
in  order  to  have  a  new  dress  made;  and  on  the 
fourth  evening  she  came  to  dinner  in  it,  and  was 
received  with  outspoken  and  generous  admiration. 
It  was  only  a  lawn  gown  of  the  color  of  ripe 
wheat,  with  a  bunch  of  poppies  in  its  belt ;  but  it 
was  very  effective  and  becoming.  Flora,  Jessie, 
Alan  all  petted  and  praised  her,  and  the  girl 
glowed  and  smiled  and  beamed  on  them  with  a 
ravishing  beauty  and  affection.  The  evening  was 
a  little  festival  in  her  honor,  and  nobody  men 
tioned  Shaw ;  he  was,  as  it  were,  quite  outside  the 
happy  circle,  even  in  memory. 

In  the  morning,  as  the  girls  sat  together,  it  was 
different.  Flora  lifted  her  eyes  several  times  and 
looked  intently  at  the  beautiful  girl  before  her. 
Her  face  was  as  calm  as  a  lily  on  a  pond,  and 
there  was  certainly  nothing  but  serene  happiness 
behind  the  smiling  mouth  and  eyes.  She  won 
dered  how  best  to  approach  the  subject  of  Shaw's 
claim,  and  then  finding  no  cunningly  devised 
words  that  suited  her  purpose,  she  went,  as  it  was 
natural  for  her  to  do,  directly  to  the  point. 

"Fame,  Shaw  says  that  you  are  going  to  marry 
him.  I  wonder  you  never  told  me." 


Who  Was  to  Blame?  127 

Astonishment,  incredulity,  anger  flashed  into 
Fame's  face.  She  let  her  work  fall,  and  looking 
straight  at  Flora,  uttered  slowly  two  passionate 
words : 

"Shaw  lies!" 

"He  told  Alan  he  was  engaged  to  you." 

"He  told  Alan  a  lie,  and  he  knew  it  was  a  lie. 
I  am  not  engaged  to  Shaw  McDuff.  I  would 
rather  die  than  be  his  wife.  I  am  knowing  him 
too  well  to  marry  him." 

"Whatever,  then,  could  make  him  tell  Alan  such 
a  falsehood?" 

"Shaw  has  a  soul  out  of  the  bottomless  pit  of 
selfishness.  He  is  jealous  of  every  one;  even  a 
girl  like  me  might  get  some  little  pleasure  or  atten 
tion  he  wanted  for  himself."  Then  after  a 
moment's  consideration  she  continued:  "Yes,  I 
will  tell  you  what  happened  last  summer.  Young 
Gillian  Grant  liked  me  very  much.  He  came 
every  day  to  see  father,  and  always  brought  me  a 
basket  of  hothouse  flowers  or  grapes,  or,  perhaps, 
some  beautiful  book  he  wished  me  to  read.  Then 
Lady  Grant  came  to  see  me,  and  she  asked  me  to 
a  dance  at  Loch-Grant,  and  father  sent  to  Glasgow 
and  bought  me  a  pretty  gown  of  white  tarletan 
spangled  with  gilt,  and  if  you  will  not  think  me 
vain,  Flora,  I  looked  very  well  indeed  that  night 
of  the  dance,  and  Gillian  Grant  never  left  my  side ; 
and  though  he  said  no  foolish  words,  I  knew  that 


128  Souls  of  Passage  . 

he  loved  me.  In  spite  of  Shaw's  black  looks  I 
came  home  so  happy,  and  waited  for  Gillian  to 
call  the  next  day.  And  he  did  not  call,  and  after 
four  days  had  gone  I  got  a  little  sorrowful  note 
from  him.  It  was  dated  at  Edinburgh,  and  he 
said  only:  'Farewell,  lovely  and  beloved!  May 
you  always  be  happy.  Gillian  Grant.'  And  I 
was  very  wretched,  and  /  confess  to  you  that  I 
felt  heartbroken;  and  one  day  I  said  to  Shaw, 
'Why  does  Gillian  Grant  come  no  more?  Have 
you  quarrelled  with  him?'  And  he  laughed  and 
answered,  'Gillian  Grant  has  gone  to  India.  He 
will  be  two  years  away.'  And  after  that  the 
Grants  were  cool  and  unfriendly,  and  things  were 
not  pleasant  at  Loch-Grant  even  for  Shaw,  and  he 
began  to  speak  badly  of  the  Grants.  I  saw  no 
more  of  them.  Can  you  not  imagine  now  what 
took  place  to  cause  this  change  ?" 

"I  am  sure  I  can.    Dear  Fame,  it  was  too  bad." 

"I  know  that  Shaw  told  Gillian  I  was  engaged 
to  him ;  and  Lady  Grant  was  angry  at  me  for  tak 
ing  Gillian's  gifts  and  being  kind  to  her  son.  She 
thought,  of  course,  I  was  kind  to  him  for  the  gifts. 
Was  not  that  a  dreadful  position  to  be  in  ?" 

"Oh,  Fame,  how  mortified  you  must  have  felt ! 
And  you  could  not  explain  ?" 

"No ;  I  could  explain  nothing.  It  was  impossi 
ble  to  go  and  ask  Lady  Grant  if  Shaw  had  said 


Who  Was  to  Blame?  129 

such  a  thing.  I  could  not  return  poor  Gillian's 
gifts.  I  had  simply  to  bear  the  shameful  thoughts 
I  knew  Lady  Grant,  very  naturally,  entertained  of 
me.  Long  after  I  heard  Gillian  had  fainted  the 
morning  after  the  ball  in  a  little  shooting  box  on 
Ben  Grant ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  it  was  there  Shaw 
told  him  the  untruth.  He  was  sick  for  three 
days,  and  then  he  went  with  his  tutor  for  a  long 
<.our  in  the  East.  Shaw  had  been  staying  at  Loch- 
Grant  for  two  weeks,  but  he  came  home  the  day 
Gillian  left." 

"Thank  you,  Fame,  for  telling  me  this  sad 
story.  It  confirms  my  opinion  of  Shaw  McDuff. 
Have  you  forgotten  Gillian  ?" 

"No ;  I  do  not  forget  easily,  but  I  have  ceased  to 
fret  about  the  circumstance.  It  is  over.  He  has 
forgotten  me,  I  have  no  doubt.  And  the  break  up 
and  parting  was  so  full  of  misunderstanding  and 
so  painful  that  I  try  to  keep  it  out  of  my  memory. 
That  is  the  reason  I  have  not  spoken  of  it  to 
you  before.  But  you  have  never  told  me  any 
thing  about  your  lovers,  yet  you  must  have  had 
lovers  ?" 

"While  I  was  in  Canada  I  lived  alone  with 
father.  I  stayed  in  barracks  or  in  camp  with  him. 
If  he  had  to  move  from  point  to  point,  I  went  with 
him.  Sometimes  young  officers  looked  as  if  they 
admired  me,  but  none  of  them  ever  said  so." 


130  Souls  of  Passage 

"But  in  Glasgow  last  winter?" 

"In  Glasgow  last  winter  I  saw  a  great  many 
young  gentlemen,  undeveloped  lawyers  and  doc 
tors  and  ministers  and  merchants.  Many  of  them 
did  me  the  honor  to  dance  with  me,  and  some  even 
called  on  me  afterward.  They  were  all  afraid  to 
go  further — I  was  an  oddity — a  colonial — a  back 
woods  girl.  I  wanted  the  Glasgow  stamp  and 
mintage;  my  speech  had  not  the  local  tone,  and 
the  local  idioms  were  Greek  to  me.  I  was  a  haz 
ardous  quantity,  not  available  for  mere  flirtation, 
and  not  safe  for  matrimony.  Besides,  I  had  no 
fortune  worth  speaking  of  to  atone  for  my  de 
ficiencies.  Can  you  understand  ?" 

"Very  well;  I  am  in  the  same  position 
in  another  way.  But  there  is  Alan!  Perhaps 
there  was  an  idea  that  you  were  engaged  to 
him?" 

"If  so,  I  am  positive  that  Alan  never  gave  it." 
Then  Flora  hesitated,  and  if  any  certain  feeling 
had  come  to  her  help  she  would  have  confessed  her 
engagement  to  Alan;  but  she  could  not  instantly 
separate  the  advisable  from  the  inadvisable;  and 
the  moment  that  might  have  saved  her  much 
sorrow  slipped  away,  its  gift  unused,  its  duty 
missed  and  left  undone.  For  Flora  only  added, 
"As  to  Alan,  you  can  see  for  yourself  how  he  feels 
toward  me." 

"Yes,"  answered  Fame,   "he  treats  you  just 


Who  Was  to  Blame  ?  131 

like  a  sister ;  I  am  sure  he  loves  you  quite  as  much 
as  he  loves  Jessie." 

"I  think  he  does,"  said  Flora ;  but  there  was  a 
faint  tone  of  irritation  in  her  voice.  "Alan  is  lov 
ing  and  lovable.  He  is  not  perfect,  but — " 

"I  think  he  is  perfect.  His  disposition  is  always 
noble.  He  could  not  do  a  mean  or  cruel  thing. 
Now,  Shaw  is  cruel  even  to  little  children  and 
dumb  animals." 

"Yet  he  is  very  religious.  He  would  not 
miss  a  church  service  even  for  his  Highland 
Glory,  the  great  Duke  himself.  I  heard  him  say 
so." 

"All  the  same,  he  is  cruel  and  selfish  and  false 
hearted." 

"And  you  think  Alan  the  reverse  of  these 
things?" 

"Just  so." 

"Are  you  not  the  least  little  bit  in  love  with 
Alan,  and  therefore  prejudiced  in  his  favor?" 

"He  is  not  in  love  with  me.  I,  also,  am  like  a 
little  sister  to  him,  though  he  does  not  care  for 
me  as  he  does  for  you.  There  is  a  difference;  I 
can  feel  it.  You  are  one  of  his  household,  I  am 
only  a  stranger." 

"You  are  my  dear  friend.  Next  winter  you 
will  come  to  Glasgow  and  astonish  the  young  men 
of  St.  Mungo's  town.  They  are  very  big  and 
handsome,  and  they  can  sing  Scotch  songs,  and 


132  Souls  of  Passage 

dance  reels,  and  recite!  My  dear  Fame,  their 
recitations  are  wonderful.  Every  young  man 
recites.  Some  have  selections  from  Shakespeare, 
some  from  Robert  Burns,  some  from  Walter 
Scott,  but  they  all  recite ;  and  really  at  the  supper- 
table,  when  they  have  had  a  glass  of  toddy,  they 
do  it  very  well." 

After  this  diversion  the  conversation  kept  clear 
of  danger,  but  amid  all  its  changes  Flora's  heart 
beat  to  some  sad  presentiment,  which  her  friend's 
calm,  candid  face  did  not  dispel. 

In  the  evening  Shaw  and  Alan  came  into  the 
dining-room  together.  They  had  been  playing 
some  kind  of  game  all  afternoon  with  "the 
books,"*  and  Shaw  was  twelve  pounds  the  richer ; 
but  he  was  as  sombre  as  if  he  had  been  the  loser ; 
while  Alan  was  brimming  with  quips,  and  jokes, 
and  merry  compliments.  All  of  the  girls  were  par 
ticularly  lovely  that  night.  The  warmth  had  led 
them  to  choose  white  gowns;  Jessie's  had  not  a 
suggestion  of  color,  but  Flora's  and  Fame's 
diaphanous  robes  waved  over  pale  pink  tissue,  and 
there  were  bows  of  pale  pink  ribbon  about  them ; 
and  they  had  pink  roses  at  their  girdles,  and  each 
one  a  sweet  rose  in  her  braided  hair;  and  surely 
two  young  men  never  sat  down  to  eat  with  three 
fairer  women. 

But  nothing  can  brighten  a  room  filled  with  an 

*A  pack  of  cards. 


Who  Was  to  Blame?  133 

evil  influence,  and  Shaw's  jealous,  envious  mood 
infected  the  atmosphere,  just  as  a  lowering  thun 
der-storm  might. 

Even  his  twelve  pounds  annoyed  him.  He  felt 
the  sovereigns  in  his  pocket,  though  he  kept  ask 
ing  himself  why  he  should  do  so?  Besides,  Alan 
did  not  seem  to  care  for  their  loss,  and  that  also 
was  irritating.  "The  rich,  wasteful  fool!"  he 
thought  whenever  he  looked  at  him.  "How  he 
smiles,  and  nods,  and  passes  his  little  intelligences 
around !  And  how  the  women  adore  him !  Fools, 
all  of  them!" 

It  was  not  possible  to  resist  long  this  inimical 
influence  of  a  hateful  soul ;  for  human  beings  are 
as  sensitive  to  emanations  from  individuals  as 
they  are  to  those  from  other  forms  of  life ;  and  the 
sphere  of  a  rose  is  not  more  obvious  by  its  sweet 
odor  than  the  sphere  of  an  ill-natured  soul  by  that 
spiritual  force  of  hate  which  it  creates  and  which 
unconsciously  enters  into  the  organism  of  those 
within  it.  For  thoughts  are  powers,  even  when 
unexpressed,  and  go  forth  armed  with  influences 
for  good  or  ill  on  other  minds.  There  was  soon 
short  silences  and  malapropos  remarks  at  the 
tai>le ;  something  checked  every  impulse  to  smile, 
and  though  no  one  realized  it,  the  very  voice  of 
Shaw  had  a  contagious  dissatisfaction;  and  his 
envious  anger  caused  the  nerves  of  every  one  to 
vibrate  to  it.  So  that  when  he  asked  Alan  to 


1 34  Souls  of  Passage 

order  his  dog-cart  there  was  a  conscious  feeling  of 
relief;  and  Jessie  made  an  effort  to  render  the 
parting  moments  more  sympathetic. 

"It  is  so  very  early,  Mr.  McDuff,"  she  said; 
"can  we  not  have  a  song  or  a  dance — or  some 
thing?" 

"It  is  too  warm  to  dance,"  said  Flora,  "but 
Fame  can  sing  for  us.  She  has  a  wonderful  new 
song  about  Angus  MacRory, 

"  'Whose  soul-stirring  note 
Gives  strength  to  the  arms 
That  give  wings  to  the  boat.' 

Come,  Fame,  sing  to  the  glory  of  the  MacLeods 
and  the  brave-hearted  Rory !" 

"Fame  will  require  to  put  on  her  hat  and  man 
tilla  at  once,"  answered  Shaw,  in  a  voice  whose 
sharp  authority  there  was  no  denying.  Fame 
looked  at  him  a  moment,  dropped  her  eyes  on  her 
work,  and  said : 

"I  am  not  going  down  the  hill  at  all  to-night." 
"Your  father  will  be  expecting  you,  Fame." 
"My  father  will  not  be  expecting  me  for  two 
or  three  days." 

"You  are  not  treating  your  father  very  kindly 
these  last  weeks." 

"That  is  my  father's  affair — not  yours." 
"And  you  are  not  treating  me  well,  either." 
"That  is  your  affair — not  mine ;"  then  turning 


Who  Was  to  Blame?  135 

to  Flora,  she  asked,  "Is  this  row  right?  five 
stitches  plain,  three  purled,  one  cast  over,  two  to 
gether?" 

"It  is  right,  Fame." 

"Are  you  going  with  me,  Fame?" 

"No." 

Then  Jessie  with  a  conciliating  air  came  for 
ward,  saying,  "I  have  asked  Fame  to  stay  with  us, 
Mr.  McDuff,  and  her  promise  is  given,  and  we 
will  not  let  her  break  it ;  so  you  really  must  excuse 
her  to-night."  And  as  Fame  took  no  further  no 
tice  of  him,  and  Alan's  smiling  silence  was  intol 
erable,  the  irate  young  man  saw  nothing  better 
than  to  accept  this  explanation. 

He  left  the  room,  however,  with  his  usual  fine 
air,  and  Alan  followed  him.  Then  Jessie  began 
her  nightly  letter  to  her  lover;  she  had  much  to 
tell  him,  and  she  soon  became  absorbed  in  her 
occupation.  Flora  and  Fame  put  down  their  work 
and  went  to  the  open  window.  They  stood  there 
quite  silent;  a  strange  and  apparently  causeless 
sadness  had  suddenly  mastered  Flora.  Her  soul 
sank  back  upon  itself,  and  seemed  to  retire  from 
all  affection.  Tears,  unreasonable  tears,  without 
motive  or  occasion,  made  her  heart  and  eyes  fill. 
She  presaged  something  sorrowful,  she  knew  not 
what,  and  she  believed  her  presage ;  and  this  fear 
ful,  intensive  feeling  not  only  struck  inward,  but 
also  outward ;  for  her  body  answered  the  mood  of 


136  Souls  of  Passage 

her  soul  by  a  peculiar  lassitude  and  inertia,  which 
she  felt  unable  to  resist. 

Fame  did  not  attempt  conversation;  that  fine 
courtesy,  which  is  the  subtle,  natural  aroma  of  a 
spirit  enlightened  by  the  heart,  taught  her  instinc 
tively  to  respect  a  frame  of  mind  which  was  be 
yond  her  understanding ;  and  she  stood  quietly  at 
Flora's  side  looking  into  the  dim  garden,  where 
the  twilight,  embalmed  in  the  tall  August  lilies, 
was  mingling  its  soft  glamour  with  the  young 
moon's  radiance.  Under  the  great  vault  of  the 
wood's  branches  a  nightingale  was  softly,  almost 
solemnly,  singing;  and  as  they  listened  the  sweet 
sounds  were  crashed  out  by  the  wheels  of  Shaw's 
dog-cart  rattling  rapidly  down  the  stony  hill. 

Then  Alan  returned  to  the  parlor.  They  heard 
him  whistling  gaily  to  himself  as  he  came  through 
the  house ;  and  his  first  words  were : 

"It  is  a  glorious  night;  let  us  go  out  and  be 
come  a  part  of  it.  This  room  feels  as  if  there  was 
something  unhappy  in  it;  let  us  go  into  the 
garden;  it  is  warm,  and  sweet,  and  calm  as  a 
resting  wheel." 

"I  cannot  possibly  go,"  said  Jessie;  "I  have  a 
long  letter  to  write;  but  by  all  means  take  Flora 
and  Fame.  When  you  come  in  we  will  have  a 
game  of  whist,  and  some  raspberries  and  curds 
and  cream." 


Who  Was  to  Blame?  137 

"Fame  will  go  with  you,  Alan,"  said  Flora. 
"It  is  impossible  for  me  to  walk  to-night.  I  am 
not  all  here — not  quite  well.  If  I  go  out  I  shall 
take  cold  or  something  worse." 

"Nonsense!    It  will  do  you  good,  Flora." 

"It  will  not.  Leave  me  for  a  little.  I  want 
to  find  myself.  I  do  wish  you  and  Fame  would 
go  away  for  half  an  hour.  I  shall  be  glad  to  be 
alone." 

"Come  then,  Fame,  you  and  I  will  go.  May 
we  come  back  in  half  an  hour?" 

"Yes.  I  shall  have  finished  my  letter  in  half 
an  hour,"  said  Jessie. 

"And  perhaps  I  shall  have  found  out  what  is 
the  matter  with  me,"  added  Flora. 

For  a  few  minutes  she  remained  standing  at  the 
window,  watching  Alan  and  Fame  slowly  pacing 
up  and  down  the  broad,  flagged  walk  leading 
to  the  main  entrance.  Alan  had  a  cigar  in  his 
mouth,  and  she  heard  him  say  something,  at 
which  Fame  laughed  heartily.  Then  they  turned 
into  another  avenue,  and  Flora  lay  down  on  the 
sofa  and  tried  to  reason  with  herself,  and  espe 
cially  to  conquer  that  physical  incapacity  for 
family  claims  which  looked  so  ill-natured,  but 
which  had  really  been  beyond  her  control. 

The  avenue  into  which  Alan  and  Fame  had 
turned  was  a  narrow  one  facing  the  south,  and 


138  Souls  of  Passage 

full  of  heliotrope.  The  delicious  scent  filled  the 
air,  and  the  lovely  moon  transfigured  the  place 
with  her  soft,  melancholy  radiance.  The  secret 
silences  of  the  night  and  all  the  mystical  in 
fluences  of  nature  were  rained  down  upon  them. 
They  gradually  ceased  speaking — they  stood 
still — without  warning  or  intention  they  were  in 
the  very  high  place  of  temptation.  And  the 
moonlight  added  to  Fame's  beauty  a  something 
inexpressible.  It  fell  over  her  face  and  form  like 
a  charmed  garment.  Alan  could  not  choose  but 
feel  it.  There  was  a  delicious  pause,  conscious 
and  sensitive,  and  then  one  word,  soft  as  a  lover's 
whisper : 

"Fame!" 

She  lifted  her  face;  her  eyes  stirred  his  heart 
like  fire  and  wine;  he  knew  that  she  loved  him, 
and  he  stooped  and  kissed  her.  And  after  that 
kiss  he  could  not  think,  he  could  not  pause;  he 
was  like  a  man  in  a  swift  current,  the  touch  of 
Fame's  lips  had  carried  him  off  his  feet,  and 
he  did  not  at  the  moment  care  where  he  was 
carried. 

For  one  half-hour  there  was  an  interlude  of 
perfect  happiness  in  the  old  garden;  then  they 
went  slowly  back  to  the  house,  and  Flora  roused 
herself,  and  with  forced  smiles  came  to  meet 
them.  Jessie  had  laid  out  the  cards  and  the 
counters  for  the  game  of  whist,  and  the  talk  was 


Who  Was  to  Blame?  139 

only  of  kings  and  queens  and  aces  and  honors; 
the  love  scene  just  enacted  -among  the  helio 
tropes  appeared  to  be  quite  forgotten.  For  in 
some  way,  without  a  word  on  the  subject,  Alan 
had  made  Fame  understand  that  it  was  not  to 
be  spoken  of.  She  could  not  have  explained 
how  this  fact  had  been  impressed  upon  her, 
unless  it  was  by  Alan's  attitude  of  good-natured 
indifference  to  all  things  but  trumps  and  tricks. 
Not  even  in  his  "good-night"  courtesies  could 
the  most  suspicious  rival  have  detected  anything 
unusual. 

She  did  not  know  what  to  think  of  this  atti 
tude,  but  she  was  sure  it  involved  nothing  wrong 
or  unkind.  She  told  herself  that  the  revelation 
had  come  to  both  of  them  so  suddenly  and  un 
awares  that  it  was  not  likely  Alan  could  decide 
at  once  on  the  best  course  to  be  taken.  And 
then  she  also  remembered  Jessie's  approaching 
marriage,  and  put  Alan  and  herself  in  much  the 
same  relation  to  it  as  Flora  had  already  done. 
She  was,  however,  so  happy  that  she  longed  to 
share  her  happiness  with  her  friend,  but  that 
night  nothing  about  Flora  invited  confidential 
conversation.  She  was  tired  and  silent,  and  had 
feelings  she  could  only  explain  under  the  con 
venient  excuse  of  headache.  Besides,  Fame 
remembered  that  she  had  already  told  Flora 
about  Gillian  Grant,  and  she  felt  it  would  require 


140  Souls  of  Passage 

an  effort  to  speak  of  another  lover  so  soon  after 
this  confession.  So  she  lay  down  with  the 
dream  in  her  heart,  unshared  and  unread,  and 
was  not  sorry,  for  a  while  at  least,  to  hide  it 
there. 

In  the  meantime  Shawhad  gone  straight  to  his 
father.  He  walked  into  the  small  parlor,  where 
Peter  McDuff  was  reading  the  only  book  that 
really  interested  him — his  private  ledger.  He 
closed  the  lock  with  a  snap  as  Shaw  entered  and 
said  he  was  glad  to  see  him,  adding,  "But  what 
brought  you  home  so  before  hours?  Were  the 
ladies  not  there?" 

"They  were  not  there  for  me,  father.  I  felt  in 
the  way.  I  was  not  wanted." 

"Not  wanted!  That  is  clearly  impossible," 
said  the  old  man  in  a  tone  of  incredulity. 

"Will  you  tell  me  how  we  stand  with  Macrae? 
I  mean  how  we  really  stand.  I  want  the  truth 
—all  of  it." 

"We  have  a  mortgage  on  Macrae's  house  and 
enclosed  land  for  one  thousand  pounds;  and 
there  has  been  half  a  year's  interest  due  this  little 
while.  I  am  not  satisfied  about  the  interest. 
Macrae  has  paid  it  unwillingly  for  as  much  as 
two  years,  and  he  seems  to  have  forgotten  there 
is  now  money  due." 

"Why  do  you  not  make  him  pay  it?" 


Who  Was  to  Blame?  141 

"Can  I  make  him?    What  do  you  think?" 

"There  is  the  law." 

"Just  so.  But  this  is  how  we  stand  to  the  law. 
I  loaned  Macrae  one  thousand  pounds,  and  he. 
has  already  paid  me  back  one  thousand  six 
hundred  pounds.  If  he  took  the  case  to  the 
Court  of  Equity,  he  would  win;  if  he  took  it  to 
the  Common  Law  Court,  we  might  be  indicted 
for  usury — our  interest  being  beyond  the  lawful 
— and  I  have  been  thinking  lately  that  Macrae 
has  at  last  got  this  idea  into  his  head;  or  perhaps 
some  one  has  put  it  there  for  him;  he  hasn't  any 
money-brains  of  his  own." 

"His  daughter  made  a  point  of  insulting  me 
to-night."  Then  Shaw  told  his  father  what  had 
occurred  at  Dunbrack,  and  before  he  had  fin 
ished  Peter  was  snapping  his  fingers  and  uttering 
all  kinds  of  bad  words  in  Gaelic — the  language 
he  used  for  such  purposes. 

"We  will  be  putting  the  screw  en  him, 
Shaw,"  he  said  when  his  son  ceased  speak 
ing.  "I  will  call  for  my  interest  in  the  morning, 
and  I  will  also  let  him  understand  the  prin 
cipal  is  wanted,  and  that,  too,  at  once.  It  is  at  my 
call." 

"You  cannot  frighten  Macrae,  father." 

"I  can  and  I  will.  But  stop — is  that  the  best 
way?  You  must  not  give  up  the  girl.  She 


142  Souls  of  Passage 

means  the  Macrae  land.  You  must,  you  must 
win  her,  Shaw.  She  is  yours  by  right." 

"She  is  in  love  with  young  Mackenzie;  so  is 
the  other  girl." 

"That  is  nonsense — most  unlikely  nonsense! 
I  am  not  believing  it.  Fame  was  showing  off 
her  power;  let  her  do  it  while  it  is  her  day — your 
day  will  come." 

"Oh,  indeed,  I  shall  neither  beck  nor  bow  to 
Fame  Macrae.  There  is  Meriton's  sister,  and 
Jean  Stewart,  and  Grace  Frazer,  and  some  few 
others  that  I  can  wive  for  the  asking." 

"Just  so.  You  are  right;  but  Fame  has  ad 
vantages — for  you.  A  little  policy,  Shaw,  a  little 
policy  may  mean  a  deal  of  property.  Speak  out 
to  the  girl.  Women  are  easily  cowed.  A  word 
or  two  makes  most  of  them  step  down  from  their 
high  horse.  I'll  see  Macrae  in  the  morning,  and 
as  soon  as  you  get  the  wilful  lass  outside  Dun- 
brack  and  in  her  own  surroundings  ask  her  to 
marry  you.  Don't  take  'no'  from  her.  I'm 
feared  you  have  delayed  the  straight  question 
o'er  long.  Women  like  all  things  squared  and 
settled." 

"You  might  name  the  subject  to  Macrae. 
His  word  might  help." 

"Or  hinder — likely.  Your  own  word  is  best 
of  all.  You'll  be  requiring  no  other  word.  Just 
offer  yourself;  I  would  like  to  see  the  woman 


Who  Was  to  Blame?  143 

who  would  refuse  you!  She  would  have  to  be 
a  born  idiot." 

This  opinion  soothed  the  wounded  pride  of 
the  young  man.  He  got  up  and  walked  about 
the  room  with  a  stately  air,  furtively  watching 
his  reflection  upon  the  white  wall  as  he  did  so. 
Certainly  he  had  an  imposing,  dignified  figure, 
and  his  father's  words  did  not  seem  over-compli 
mentary  or  very  unlikely.  And  when  they  had 
drank  a  glass  of  toddy  together,  and  discussed 
the  matter  in  detail,  Shaw  went  to  sleep  with  the 
firm  conviction  in  his  heart  that  as  far  as  Fame 
Macrae  was  concerned  he  had  only  to  ask  and 
to  have. 

While  the  McDuffs  were  arriving  at  this 
comfortable  conclusion  Flora  was  striving  to 
discover  the  "why"  of  her  singular  depression. 
When  Fame  left  her  she  locked  her  door,  and 
turned  with  a  face  full  of  sensitive  inquiry  to  the 
picture  of  Lady  Sara  Bella.  It  had  been  hand 
somely  framed,  and  stood  on  an  easel  near  the 
comfortable  chair  Flora  used  in  her  hours  of 
reflection  and  relaxation.  A  singular  friendship 
had  grown  up  between  this  living,  loving  girl 
and  the  painted  image  of  the  ancestress  whom 
she  so  closely  resembled.  They  had  become 
familiars.  They  held  long  conversations  with 
each  other.  Flora  was  accustomed  to  tell  her 
the  secrets  of  her  heart  and  soul,  to  ask  her 


144  Souls  of  Passage 

advice,  to  seek  her  sympathy,  even  to  stand 
before  her  a  minute  or  two  when  she  was  prettily 
dressed,  that  she  might  have  her  approval;  in 
short,  she  treated  the  image  of  the  dead  lady  as 
if  it  represented  her  own  inner  self. 

"My  dear,"  she  said  softly,  "I  am  sorrowful, 
and  I  do  not  know  why.  Do  you?" 

This  night,  however,  though  she  waited  long, 
no  answer  came  to  her  question.  But  as  she  sat 
motionless  in  that  sweet  receptive  mood  which 
makes  spiritual  influence  possible,  she  was  sud 
denly  conscious  of  that  holy  desire  which  God 
Himself  forms  in  the  soul,  that  secret  prayer 
within  us,  which  is  a  fire  that  never  goes  out,  a 
lamp  incessantly  burning  before  God,  so  that 
"if  we  sleep  our  heart  waketh."  Into  that  com 
munion  no  stranger  entereth;  but  it  sufficeth. 
When  the  morning  came  her  spirit  had  shaken 
off  this  egotism  of  sorrow,  she  rose  with  a  song 
in  her  heart,  and  was  ready  to  "enjoy  herself" — 
a  very  striking  and  satisfactory  condition,  for 
the  happiness  we  receive  from  ourselves  is  much 
greater  than  that  we  receive  from  our  surround 
ings. 

Alan  met  her  with  a  radiant  face  and  with 
good  tidings.  The  provost  and  Mrs.  Mackenzie 
were  coming,  and  the  castle  was  already  in  a 
joyous  hurry  of  preparing  for  the  master,  who 
had  not  yet  seen  his  new  home.  The  young  man 


Who  Was  to  Blame?  145 

bore  no  traces  of  mental  struggle  nor  of  night 
watching.  And,  indeed,  he  had  not  suffered 
from  either.  The  incident  with  Fame  had  been 
very  pleasant  to  him,  for  it  had  possessed  in  an 
eminent  degree  that  forbidden  flavor,  usually 
found  to  be  so  alluring.  Not  only  that,  it  gave 
to  his  thoughts  of  Shaw  a  certain  zest  of  triumph, 
and  he  tasted  them,  as  it  were,  with  that  faint 
smile  of  satisfaction  which  always  springs  from 
some  interior  source  of  complacency.  It  was 
not  the  first  time  that  he  had  kissed  a  pretty 
woman  under  the  moon  and  in  sweet-scented 
gardens;  the  women  had  never  seemed  to  dislike 
it,  and  it  had  on  no  occasion  brought  him  any 
severe  penalty.  He  was  not  angry  with  himself 
for  "the  little  folly,"  and  he  did  not  suppose 
Fame  took  his  passing  infatuation  seriously. 
He  met  her  precisely  as  he  met  her  every  other 
morning;  and,  at  any  rate,  all  feelings  and  events 
that  day  were  merged  in  the  delightful  excite 
ment  incident  to  the  master's  home  coming. 
Alan,  with  twenty  boys  from  the  village  to  help 
him,  was  cutting  branches  and  making  garlands 
and  hanging  wreaths;  and  inside  the  house  the 
three  girls,  with  all  the  help  they  could  press  into 
service,  were  equally  busy. 

And  then,  just  H  time  to  be  cooked  for  the 
provost's  dinner,  Earne  came  sheepishly  up  to 
the  castle  with  a  brace  of  grouse.  It  was  not 


146  Souls  of  Passage 

the  twelfth  of  August,  but  no  one  asked  Earne 
a  question.  In  fact,  he  was  much  thanked  and 
made  of,  and  went  back  to  the  Lapwing  with  a 
look  on  his  face  which  it  was  well  Shaw  McDuff 
did  not  see.  For  he  would  have  felt  it  to  be  not 
only  a  breach  of  the  peace,  but  also  a  positive 
proof  of  a  violation  of  the  game  laws. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE   INEVITABLE   QUESTION. 

IT  was  a  hot  August  morning;  the  twelfth  had 
come  and  gone,  and  the  hills  were  free  to  the 
sportsmen;  but  Provost  Mackenzie  was  not  for 
the  hills.  He  had  realized  his  vision  of  the 
"harts  upon  the  high  mountains,"  had  seen 
those  mighty  beasts,  the  wing-footed  red  deer, 
taking  the  heather,  the  burns,  the  rocks,  and  the 
peat  with  that  long,  swinging  trot  which  carries 
them  at  such  tremendous  pace  over  the  roughest 
country;  had  heard  a  "royal" — his  breath  com 
ing  like  smoke  out  of  his  nostrils — bellowing 
defiance,  and  answered  by  another  and  another 
stag,  till  the  whole  valley  seemed  alive  with 
them.  And  in  Glasgow  he  had  promised  himself 
to  shoot  a  "royal,"  or  at  least  a  ten-pointer;  but 
he  could  not  now  lift  his  gun  against  one.  And 
it  was  the  Macrae's  doing. 

For  he  had  gone  on  the  first  morning  of  his 
visit  to  Dunbrack  to  see  his  old  companion,  and 
they  had  clung  to  each  other  like  brothers  ever 
since  that  meeting.  And  Macrae  during  the 


148  Souls  of  Passage 

last  few  years  had  taken  up  strange  ideas  about 
killing  animals  and  birds  for  mere  sport;  and  he 
had  said  words  to  Mackenzie  that  had  made  his 
rifle  a  burden. 

"I'll  not  go  with  you  if  you  are  taking  the 
rifle,"  was  his  answer  to  Mackenzie's  invitation 
to  walk  with  him  to  Dunbrack  covers.  "If  I 
went  to  a  slaughter-house  for  amusement,  I 
would  be  thinking  myself  a  brute,  and  I  am 
seeing  little  difference  in  going  to  the  hills  to 
do  murder  on  the  birds.  No,  indeed !" 

"Come,  Macrae,  we  have  a  lawful  supremacy 
over  the  animal  world.  And  animals  hunt  each 
other;  cats  naturally  kill  birds,  and  a  hound  re 
quires  no  teaching  in  order  to  hunt  a  fox." 

"That  is  proving  nothing  for  you,  Mackenzie, 
unless  you  think  yourself  justified  in  adopting 
the  morals  of  the  cat  and  the  hound.  And  as 
for  our  'supremacy/  as  you  call  it,  it  is  o'er  like 
that  of  Satan — a  supremacy  of  pain  and  cruelty. 
Oh,  man!  man!  I  want  you  to  respect  this 
mysterious  animal  world,  that  'groaneth  and 
travaileth  in  pain  with  us,  waiting  for  the  re 
demption  of  the  body.'  We  are  to  be  saved 
together.  Mind  that." 

"Macrae,  you  are  surely  not  thinking  that 
animals  have  souls?" 

"Well,  Mackenzie,  we  are  not  blinded  with 
the  light  we  have  about  our  own  souls;  and  I 


The  Inevitable  Question         149 

am  not  knowing  anything  certain  about  the 
spiritual  nature  of  beasts.  But  we  can  take  our 
Bibles  and  say  with  Bishop  Butler  that  animals 
can  make  out  from  that  Book  quite  as  good 
a  case  for  their  future  life  as  man  can." 

"We'll  talk  that  statement  over  some  other 
time,  Macrae.  I  am  doubting  it." 

"I  am  not  feared  to  do  so.  Search  for  your 
self,  and  you  will  learn  a  deal  in  that  search. 
However,  I'll  be  reminding  you  now  that  the 
Saviour  of  men  took  up  His  first  lodging  with 
the  beasts.  By  a  perfect  offering  of  Himself,  He 
had  come  to  put  an  end  to  their  sacrifice.  And, 
moreover,  St.  Peter's  vision  of  the  vessel  let 
down  from  heaven,  with  all  manner  of  living 
creatures  in  it,  you  must  take  notice,  was  'drawn 
up  again  into  heaven;'  and  we  are  told  distinctly 
they  had  been  cleansed,  as  well  as  man,  by  the 
Great  Atonement.  We  are  to  be  saved  together. 
Mind  that !" 

"Don't  go  too  far,  Macrae.  These  are  new 
thoughts  to  me." 

"For  seven  years  I  have  been  thinking  them 
out.  There  is,  moreover,  a  general  belief  in 
them  that  we  will  not  listen  to.  Nobody  denies 
that  beasts  and  birds  have  the  second  sight — 
that  is,  spiritual  sight.  They  see  ghosts  and 
spiritual  beings,  and  are  terrified  by  the  super 
natural,  just  as  we  are.  The  'night-side  of 


150  Souls  of  Passage 

nature'  broods  o'er  them  as  well  as  o'er  us, 
Mackenzie." 

"You  have  the  case  in  your  heart,  at  any  rate, 
Macrae." 

"I  have.  And  I  love  you  so  well  that  I  will 
not  let  you  sin  against  your  own  soul  by  sinning 
against  the  life  you  cannot  give  to  any  creature." 

"Man  is  a  cruel  animal  naturally,   Macrae." 

"He  is.  He  has  denied  women  their  freedom 
and  right  for  thousands  of  years;  and  he  will  not 
emancipate  beasts  until  he  has  grown  nearer  to 
the  Maker  of  them.  It  is  not  possible  to  take 
a  walk  through  this  village  without  hearing  such 
sad,  plaintive  voices  come  to  us  from  the  out 
houses  and  the  obscure  buildings,  where  we 
hold  them  captive — veritable  prisons,  in  which 
we  bind  and  tie  them.  Yet,  praise  God !  'He 
saveth  both  man  and  beast/  Those  are  His  own 
words,  and,  moreover,  He  is  asking  them  in  the 
same  blessed  Book  'to  praise  Him,  and  to  bless 
Him.'  You  see,  He  is  pleased  to  have  their 
praise  and  blessing.  He  may  hear  the  larks 
singing,  as  well  as  the  angels;  and  the  voices  of 
the  stags  on  the  mountains  and  the  crowing  of 
the  grouse  in  the  heather  be  right  welcome  to 
Him.  He  made  them;  and  He  tells  us  the 
young  ravens  and  the  young  lions  cry  to  Him 
for  food,  and  are  fed  by  His  hand.  Now,  Mac 
kenzie,  are  you  for  killing  the  grouse,  or  shall 


The  Inevitable  Question         151 

we  go  down  to  the  sea,  and  hear  the  waters 
singing  the  ancient  hymn  'The  sea  is  His,  and 
He  made  it,  and  His  hands  formed  the  dry 
land'?" 

And  Mackenzie  put  his  rifle  on  a  high  shelf 
and  turned  with  a  smile  to  his  friend.  "You 
have  the  day,"  he  answered  cheerfully.  "I'll 
buy  no  more  powder  and  shot,  Macrae." 

Many  conversations  on  this  subject  followed 
this  initial  one,  and  Mackenzie  could  not  shoot 
against  them.  As  he  stood  in  the  open  door 
of  Dunbrack  Castle  that  hot  August  morning 
he  saw  on  the  spur  of  a  high  hill  a  great  stag 
standing.  The  luminous  sky  behind  him  set  the 
splendid  beast  in  startling  clearness  as  he  angrily 
turned  his  antlered  head,  scenting  his  human 
stalkers.  And  the  sight  gave  Mackenzie  a  heart 
ache;  he  turned  his  gaze  into  his  own  garden, 
and  there  he  saw  something  that  called  to  his 
face  that  peculiar  smile  of  gratification  which  is 
born  of  realized  hope.  He  saw  Alan  and  Flora 
walking  together,  and  their  attitude  was  that  of 
lover-like  confidence,  of  delightful  companion 
ship,  and  of  that  sweet  familiarity  which  only 
exists  when  two  hearts  are  one.  As  he  looked 
with  happy  hopes  at  the  couple  they  stood  still, 
and  Flora  gathered  a  flower  and  put  it  in  Alan's 
coat,  and  the  young  man  clasped  her  hands  in 
his  own.  Then  the  provost  turned  away  with 


152  Souls  of  Passage 

a  sigh  that  was  not  sorrowful;  it  was  rather  a 
tribute  to  the  memory  of  his  own  youth  than 
a  symptom  of  any  anxiety  about  the  lovers.  As 
he  was  looking  for  his  hat  and  walking  stick 
Mrs.  Mackenzie  joined  him. 

"I  heard  you  pottering  about,  Robert,"  she 
said,  "and  no  wonder.  The  canes  and  whips  and 
sticks  of  all  kinds  and  for  all  purposes  that  Alan 
leaves  here  are  just  beyond  counting;  and  the 
shooting  caps  and  travelling  caps  and  boating 
caps  take  up  every  peg  and  nail;  aye,  and  they 
are  hanging  one  on  the  top  of  the  other.  Where 
are  you  for  this  morning,  Robert?" 

"I  am  going  to  see  Ian  Macrae;  and  I  would 
not  wonder  if  we  end  on  the  Lapwing.  The 
herring  fleet  is  near,  and  I  would  like  to  see  the 
nets  shot.  You  wouldn't  mind,  Marian,  if  I  was 
later  than  ordinar?" 

"Stay  your  heart  full,  Robert.  It  isn't  many 
holidays  you  give  yourself.  I  am  real  glad  that 
you  have  found  a  friend  like  Ian  Macrae." 

"Marian,  I  saw  something  five  minutes  ago 
that  pleased  me  well.  I  saw  Alan  and  Flora 
together  in  the  garden,  and  if  they  are  not  lovers, 
I  shall  never  trust  my  judgment  in  love  matters 
again." 

"Tuts,  Robert !  They  have  been  lovers  longer 
than  they  know  themselves.  I  am  most  sure 
they  are  promised  to  each  other." 


The  Inevitable  Question         153 

"And  why  did  you  not  tell  me?" 

"I  was  waiting  to  be  told  myself." 

"What  for  are  they  keeping  the  fact  a  secret, 
I  wonder?" 

"It  will  be  Flora's  whim;  and  I  would  be 
willing  to  wager — if  I  did  wager,  which  I  don't 
— that  she  does  not  want  it  known  until  Jessie 
is  married  and  away.  I  am  saying  nothing 
against  the  lassie,  and  so  you  need  not  look 
negatives  at  me;  indeed,  I  think  she  had  a  kind 
thought  to  Jessie  and  ourselves  in  the  secret. 
I  know  I  am  glad  nothing  has  been  said 
about  it." 

"I  don't  believe  that,  Marian;  it  is  not  like 
you." 

"It  is  the  very  truth,  Robert.  Two  sets  of 
engaged  lovers  in  the  house  at  one  and  the  same 
time  would  have  been  beyond  all  bearing.  No 
body  would  believe  the  trouble  I've  had  with 
Jessie's  marriage,  and  if  Alan  also  had  been 
thinking  of  making  himself  a  married  man,  I 
would  just  have  gone  distracted  and  given  up 
the  battle." 

"I  thought  when  I  first  saw  him  with  that 
little  girl  of  Macrae's  that  she  would  be  Mrs. 
Alan  Mackenzie.  What  a  beauty  she  is!" 

"Highland  as  a  peat." 

"None  the  worse  for  it.  I  am  Highland  my 
self." 


154  Souls  of  Passage 

"None  the  worse  for  it,  Robert.  You  are  as 
good  a  man  as  any  sinful  woman  was  ever 
married  to.  But  you  are  in  the  wrong  for  once ; 
Alan's  heart  is  set  on  Flora.  Happen,  he  might 
do  worse." 

"I  don't  think  he  could  do  better.  I  hope 
what  you  say  is  the  truth." 

"I  have  not  changed  look  or  word  with  him 
on  the  subject,  but  I  am  sure  it  may  be,  if  the 
lassie  wills  it.  She  has  the  hank  in  her  own 
hand.  For  both  their  sakes  I  wish  she  had  more 
money.  They  are  neither  of  them  knowing  the 
worth  of  a  penny  piece." 

"The  little  lass  is  prudent  enough.  Crawford, 
her  lawyer,  told  me  she  never  got  outside  the 
rim  of  the  shilling — and  money  cannot  buy  true 
love." 

"True  enough,  but  it  can  buy  things  that  are 
perfectly  necessary  to  true  love." 

"Money  or  no  money,  I  hope  they  will  make  a 
match  of  it." 

"Well,  then,  I  am  mostly  sure  Flora  has  given 
her  promise,  and  what  she  promises  she  will  per 
form  as  certainly  as  she  is  a  christened  woman. 
She  is  stubborn  beyond  believing  that  way." 

"I  am  well  pleased  to  hear  that.  For  the  very 
opposite  is  one  of  Alan's  faults ;  and  there  is  noth 
ing  better  for  a  man  as  shifty  as  Alan  than  a 
steadfast,  loving  wife  like  Flora." 


The  Inevitable  Question         155 

"Shifty!  You  should  not  say  such  a  word  in 
the  same  breath  with  Alan.  You  can  give  a  dog 
a  bad  name  and  then  hang  him.  And  you  may 
call  your  lad  'shifty'  till  you  call  shifty  to  him.  It 
is  fact  as  death,  and  I  hope  I  will  not  have  to  re 
mind  you  of  it  again.  You  said  last  night  after 
Shaw  McDuff  went  away  that  you  were  thankful 
Alan  could  not  be  likened  to  him." 

"Did  I  say  that?  Let  it  pass.  McDuff  has 
faults,  but  a  man's  a  man  for  a'  that." 

"That  is  one  of  Robert  Burns's  lies.  There  are 
plenty  of  creatures  in  kilts  and  breeks  that  are  not 
men  for  a'  that." 

"Here  comes  our  lad  himself!  Alan,  will  you 
go  to  the  Lapwing?" 

Alan  was  delighted  to  go,  and  he  began  to 
search  the  hat-rack  for  his  boating  cap.  As  he 
did  so,  he  lifted  an  umbrella  with  a  laugh,  and 
pointing  to  its  broken  bones  and  tattered  silk,  said 
to  his  mother : 

"It  is  the  fault  of  Bevis.  My  dog  does  not  get 
on  well  with  the  Morandaroch  dogs.  It  took  the 
weight  of  this  umbrella  yesterday  to  make  him 
behave  like  a  Christian  to  Shaw's  dog.  Bevis  is 
simply  hating  the  creature,  and  if  they  meet  they 
fly  at  each  other's  throats  without  a  word." 

"You  ought  not  to  encourage  Bevis,  and  I  am 
afraid  you  do,"  said  the  provost. 

"On  the  contrary,  I  never  take  Bevis  out  with- 


156  Souls  of  Passage 

out  advising  him  to  behave  properly.  I  durst  not 
take  upon  me  to  do  more,  for  Bevis  is  very  strict 
about  his  rights,  and  he  considers  fighting  his 
inalienable  right.  As  we  go  through  the  village 
this  morning  notice  the  look  on  his  face;  it  says 
as  plainly  as  words  could,  'Are  there  any  dogs 
here  wanting  a  fight  ?' ' 

"Then  why  keep  a  bulldog,  Alan?"  said  the 
provost  to  the  young  man  as  they  began  their 
walk  through  the  wood,  the  dog  Bevis  trotting  at 
their  side  in  a  very  good  humor. 

"Well,  father,  fighting  is  the  work  bulldogs 
came  into  the  world  to  do ;  and  I  am  sure  you  will 
allow  they  do  it  as  well  as  they  can.  I  may  not 
have  this  quality  of  duty  myself,  but  I  admire  it, 
even  in  a  dog.  Then  notice  how  little  fuss  they 
make  about  accomplishing  their  work;  without 
noise,  without  passion  or  ostentation,  they  go  at 
another  dog  quietly  and  effectively.  No  fuss  and 
fury  about  their  fighting;  a  bulldog  is  as  much 
opposed  to  boasting  as  to  'letting  go,'  and  after  a 
course  of  Shaw  McDuff  a  bulldog's  modesty  is  a 
relief." 

"Is  Shaw  a  favorite  with  the  ladies — I  mean 
with  Jessie  and  Flora  and  that  little  girl  of  Mac 
rae's?" 

"He  says  he  is;  he  told  me  he  was  engaged  to 
Fame  Macrae." 

"I  would  not  have  thought  it.     He  seemed  to 


The  Inevitable  Question         157 

admire  Flora  most;  but  I  am  an  old  man,  and 
maybe  not  over  clear  in  my  judgment  of  such 
affairs,"  and  the  provost  looked  at  his  son,  think 
ing  he  might  receive  some  confession  which  would 
settle  his  new  hope  into  certainty. 

Alan  made  no  such  confession.  He  laughed  at 
Shaw's  pretensions,  and  said,  "Flora  Dunbrack 
would  not  be  caught  with  chaff." 

"Well,  well,"  continued  the  father,  a  little  dis 
appointed,  "if  you  have  any  liking  for  either 
Flora  or  Fame,  do  not  be  making  little  of  Shaw 
McDuff.  He  is  what  Highlanders  call  'a  pretty 
man/  " 

"Not  he,  sir.  Girls  like  something  better  than 
beauty;  for  instance,  a  sweet,  frank,  honorable 
nature.  Now,  Shaw  is  as  little  capable  of  these 
virtues  as  a  worm  is  of  walking  or  a  bear  of  fly 
ing.  He  is  also  underbred,  and  there  is  nothing 
more  distasteful  to  a  nice  woman." 

"He  seems,  however,  in  great  request.  He  was 
at  Dunallan  yesterday  with  all  the  lords  and 
gentry." 

"He  was  there  because  he  is  a  fine  shot,  and 
shooting  grouse,  my  dear  sir,  is  not  now  mere 
amusement.  Our  noblemen  stock  the  London 
markets;  and  a  sportsman  who  does  not  shatter 
the  birds,  and  so  render  them  unsalable,  is  a  very 
welcome  guest.  Shaw  and  Dunallan's  keeper 
killed  easily  yesterday  seventy-five  brace  of  grouse 


158  Souls  of  Passage 

besides  hares;  and  as  Dunallan  sends  his  game 
regularly  to  London,  you  may  see  why  Shaw  is 
his  guest." 

Thus  they  talked  until  they  came  in  sight  of 
Macrae's  house,  a  ghostly-looking  mansion, 
square  and  gray,  and  having  even  in  the  bright 
sunshine  an  air  of  gloom  and  of  utter  weariness  of 
existence.  It  was  of  rough  granite  with  windows 
small  and  narrow,  and  a  roof  of  red  sandstone; 
and  it  stood  in  a  grove  of  decaying  trees,  peopled 
with  colonies  of  magpies,  pigeons,  and  a  whole 
presbytery  of  crows.  If  a  house  can  become 
saturated  with  the  experiences  of  mortal  life,  Mac 
rae's  home  had  beyond  expression  the  air  of  old, 
unhappy  memories. 

Therefore,  the  sight  of  the  master  waiting  at  its 
gate  to  welcome  them  was  the  more  remarkable, 
for  his  face  was  the  face  of  a  calm,  sabbatic  mys 
tic  ;  of  one  who  lived  in  a  mountain  atmosphere  of 
that  inward  serenity  which  is  in  itself  a  sacra 
ment.  He  put  his  hand  in  Mackenzie's  and  smiled 
gravely  at  Alan,  and  then  without  a  word  the 
three  men  stood  listening  to  Fame,  whose  voice 
was  thrilling  the  space  between  them  with  the  in 
describable  pathos  of  an  exile's  song : 

"From  the  lone  shielings  of  the  misty  islands 

Mountains  divide  us,  and  the  waste  of  seas ; 
Yet  still  the  blood  is  strong,  the  heart  is  Highland, 
And  we  in  dreams  behold  the  Hebrides." 


The  Inevitable  Question         159 

Then  Macrae  softly  took  up  the  chorus  with 
her,  and  to  its  melancholy  notes  they  entered  the 
dwelling : 

"Fair  these  broad  meads,  these  hoary  woods  are  grand ; 
But  we  are  exiles  from  our  native  land." 

"Good-morning,  Fame,"  cried  Alan;  "do  not 
tear  our  hearts  to  pieces  so  early  in  the  morning. 
Have  you  no  gayer  word  for  us?"  And  she 
nodded  and  laughed,  and  struck  out  the  martial 
air  that  Alan  loved.  The  notes  were  sharp  as  the 
clang  of  steel  on  steel,  and  he  threw  himself  at 
once  with  spirit-stirring  animation  into  the  wild 
declamation  of  the  "Gathering  of  the  Clans" : 

"Glengarry  will  stand  with  arm  of  steel, 
And  Keppoch  is  blood  from  head  to  heel ; 
The  whiggers  o'  Skye  may  gang  to  the  deil, 
When  Connal,  and  Donald,  and  gallant  Clan  Ronald 
Are  all  in  the  field  and  know  not  to  yield ; 
Are  all  in  array  and  hastening  away 
To  welcome  their  prince  in  the  morning. 

"The  Appin  will  come  while  coming  is  good ; 
The  stern  Macintosh  is  of  trusty  blood ; 
And  the  Athol  men  keen  as  fire  from  the  steel, 
Macpherson  for  Charlie  will  battle  the  deil ; 
Come  Moidart,  and  Mory,  Macgunn,  and  MacCraw, 
McDugalds,  McDonalds,  MacDevils  and  a', 
And  the  wild  Macraes,  more  swift  than  the  roe, 

Worse  devils  than  a' ; 
Come,  welcome  your  prince  in  the  morning." 


160  Souls  of  Passage 

They  sang  the  stirring  song  till  they  felt  the 
iron  in  their  blood,  and  forgot  everything  but  the 
bewitching  cry,  "To  arms!"  They  had  summoned 
the  past,  and  brought  it  back  to  stir  with  its  old 
tumult  the  peaceful  present;  and  Prince  Charlie, 
though  his  bones  were  dust  and  his  sword  rust, 
lived  and  dominated  the  two  young  hearts  who 
had  called  him  up  by  the  spell  of  their  enthusiasm. 
When  they  ceased  singing  they  turned  round  with 
faces  aflame  to  catch  the  answering  glow  in  other 
faces ;  but  they  were  alone.  And  Fame  looked  at 
Alan  with  her  soul  in  her  eyes,  and  the  temptation 
was  very  great.  For  they  stood  in  an  atmosphere 
which  they  had  mutually  charged  with  passionate 
feeling,  and  their  hearts  throbbed  to  its  vibrations. 
Alan's  will,  undisciplined  and  unexercised,  abdi 
cated  all  control  in  the  presence  of  a  fascination 
so  potent  and  so  alluring.  For  a  few  minutes  life 
was  held  in  a  delicious,  sensitive  pause ;  then  they 
heard  the  approach  of  Mackenzie  and  Macrae,  and 
the  spell  was  broken. 

"We  want  some  lunch,  Fame,"  said  Macrae. 
"We  are  going  afterward  to  the  Lapwing." 

"But  why  trouble  Fame  ?"  asked  Alan.  "There 
is  cold  grouse  in  plenty  on  board  and  everything 
else  necessary.  Earne  will  give  us  a  lunch  fit  for 
a  Highland  chief." 

"So  he  will.  I  know  what  Earne  can  do,"  said 
Mackenzie.  "Let  us  go  at  once." 


The  Inevitable  Question         161 

"May  I  not  go  with  you?"  asked  Fame. 

"No,"  answered  her  father.  "We  may  be  out 
very  late,  and  I  am  not  caring  to  leave  the  house 
alone.  I  have  not  paid  McDuff's  interest  yet,  and 
I  have  papers  lying  about.  I  want  you  to  stay  by 
the  house,  Fame." 

Much  disappointed,  Fame  put  down  her  hat  and 
cloak,  but  that  she  might  dispute,  much  less  dis 
obey  her  father's  wish,  never  occurred  to  her  as  a 
possibility.  Yet  she  watched  the  three  men  off 
to  the  water  with  a  feeling  of  envy. 

"To  be  a  woman,"  she  sighed,  "is  the  first 
calamity ;  every  other  sorrow  may  come  after  that 
misfortune." 

After  she  had  eaten  her  solitary  lunch  she  won 
dered  what  she  should  do  with  herself.  It  was 
only  two  o'clock,  and  the  long,  long  afternoon 
was  before  her.  If  she  could  have  walked  up  to 
Dunbrack  the  inquiry  would  be  solved,  but  she 
was  not  to  leave  the  house,  and  the  house  had  not 
any  social  attractions.  Unless  the  minister's  wife 
came  in  there  was  no  one  to  expect.  She  had  had 
enough  music  for  that  day.  Alan  was  gone,  and 
she  could  sing  to  no  lower  pitch.  She  was  not 
very  fond  of  reading,  and  none  of  the  books  she 
lifted  attracted  her. 

Well,  there  was  her  sewing ;  she  could  sew  and 
think  at  the  same  time,  and  thought  was  full  of 
romances.  Any  delightful  thing  she  desired  was 


1 62  Souls  of  Passage 

waiting  for  her  in  the  realm  of  thought.  There, 
everything  might  happen  to  her  wish;  and  her 
wishes  at  this  time  were  all  connected  with  Alan. 
They  were  quite  innocent  wishes ;  she  had  no  sus 
picion  that  she  was  wronging  her  friend ;  she  was 
sorry  that  she  could  not  make  her  a  confidante  in 
her  hopes.  "Why  not?"  she  asked  her  heart  as 
she  sat  sewing ;  and  then  she  compelled  herself  to 
answer  the  question  with  the  utmost  truthfulness : 
In  the  first  place,  Alan's  behavior  made  her 
understand  that  their  love  was  not  yet  to  be 
spoken  of.  Then  Flora  invited  no  confidence  on 
the  subject;  she  was  herself  hiding  a  love  secret, 
and  she  naturally  avoided  too  close  approaches  to 
it.  Also,  she  was  always  reticent  concerning  love 
and  lovers ;  and  Fame  was  yet  abashed  whenever 
she  remembered  her  confession  about  Gillian 
Grant.  Flora  had  neither  then  nor  since  discussed 
or  "talked  over"  the  circumstance  with  her.  So, 
until  there  was  something  sure  and  decided  be 
tween  herself  and  Alan — in  fact,  until  Alan  con 
fessed  his  love  for  her  publicly — she  did  not  feel 
as  if  she  could  speak  of  it.  And  perhaps  more 
forcible  than  all  these  considerations  was  that  in 
nate,  innermost  consciousness  that  silence  and 
solitude  are  the  almost  necessary  conditions  for 
the  growth  of  a  feeling  so  sacred  and  secret  as  the 
delicate  emotion  of  love.  And  confessed  or  un- 


The  Inevitable  Question         163 

confessed,  there  is  blended  with  this  retirement  of 
the  heart  a  kind  of  selfishness,  a  desire  to  brood 
silently  over  the  new,  strange  feeling;  to  enjoy  it 
without  participation ;  to  keep  for  personal  pleas 
ure  every  tone  and  glance  and  movement  of  the 
beloved.  Other  reasons  arising  from  the  peculiar 
circumstances  of  the  Mackenzies  and  her  own 
family  pervaded  and  strengthened  the  ones  gen 
eral  to  all  lovers;  and  after  an  hour's  sweet 
thought  concerning  Alan's  evident  affection  for 
her,  she  concluded  that  this  flower  of  their  hearts 
was  yet  too  tender  and  too  much  in  the  bud  to  set 
out  in  the  public  eye,  or  subject  to  general  ap 
proval  or  criticism.  And  she  was  happy  in  this 
conclusion;  it  relieved  her  from  present  embar 
rassments,  and  permitted  her  to  enjoy  her  love 
without  advices  or  interferences  of  any  kind. 

Having  come  to  this  satisfactory  state  of  mind, 
she  began  to  sing  as  she  worked,  soft,  tender  little 
songs  that  gradually  died  away  as  thought  and 
feeling  took  more  entire  possession  of  her  mind, 
surrendering  it  finally  to  those  vague,  elusive  im 
pressions  which  cannot  be  translated  into  words, 
or  even  ideas,  but  by  means  of  which  one  soul 
enters  into  relations  with  another  soul.  So  happy 
was  she  that  she  ceased  asking  of  herself  any 
"why"  or  "wherefore."  The  joy  of  loving  was 
sufficient. 


164  Souls  of  Passage 

Suddenly,  in  the  very  midst  of  this  trance  of 
restful  pleasure  the  delicate  antennae  of  her  intui 
tive  nature  told  her  to  be  "on  guard,"  and  she 
lifted  her  head,  and  then  rose  and  went  to  the 
open  window.  She  saw  no  one,  but  she  heard 
footsteps  approaching,  and  she  said  instantly  to 
herself : 

"It  is  Shaw  McDuff." 

Arrived  at  this  conclusion,  she  sat  down  and 
began  again  to  sew  and  to  sing;  and  when  Shaw 
entered  the  house  she  was  vowing  in  musical  im 
petuosity  : 

"To  buy  herself  a  tartan  plaid, 
And  follow  the  lad  wi'  the  white  cockade." 

He  stood  at  the  open  door  waiting  for  her  to 
welcome  him,  but  she  was  sitting  with  her  back  to 
the  door,  and  therefore  not  compelled  to  be  aware 
of  his  presence.  Besides,  she  was  too  busy  at 
tending  to  "the  lad  with  the  white  cockade." 
Finally  there  was  a  moment's  pause  and  he  said : 

"Fame,  you  know  very  well  I  am  here.  Where 
is  your  father  ?" 

"I  know  very  well  that  you  saw  my  father  go 
with  the  Mackenzies  to  the  Lapwing.  Why,  then, 
do  you  ask  after  him  ?" 

"I  want  to  know  if  you  are  alone,  or  is  Miss 
Dunbrack  here  ?" 

"I  am  at  present  a  lone  abider." 


The  Inevitable  Question         165 

"Why  do  you  not  ask  me  to  sit  down?" 

"You  are  not  used  to  wait  for  any  such  cere 
mony." 

"I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  Fame.  It  is 
of  the  greatest  importance.  My  father  and  the 
Macrae  had  some  very  hard  words  this  morning." 

"Then  why  do  you  come  here  ?  If  your  father 
spoke  ill  to  the  Macrae,  he  spoke  ill  to  me  also; 
and  you  and  your  father  are  the  same  in  my 
sight." 

"I  hope  not — I  hope  not,  Fame !  My  father  is 
an  old  man,  with  old-time,  unreasonable  passions. 
I  hope  you  are  seeing  some  difference  in  us,  for 
I  am  young,  and  people  say  not  unhandsome,  and 
I  have  learned  to  be  more  lenient  in  my  judg 
ments,  as,  indeed,  is  the  way  of  the  world  these 
days." 

"You  are  one  to  me.  And,  pray,  what  was 
Peter  McDuff  saying  to  my  father?" 

"He  is  wanting  his  money,  Fame.  It  is  more 
than  sixteen  years  since  he  loaned  it." 

"He  has  been  well  paid — over  paid — for  the  use 
of  it.  I  am  knowing  that  much." 

"And  I  am  believing  some  threats  were  made 
about  the  getting  of  it.  You  know,  at  any  time 
my  father  can  sell  this  house  above  your  head." 

"Let  him  dare  it.    Just  let  him  dare  it." 

"You  can  prevent  it,  Fame ;  you,  and  you  only, 
can  prevent  it." 


1 66  Souls  of  Passage 

"Of  course  I  can  prevent  it.  I  shall  not  see  my 
dear  father  put  out  of  the  old  home  of  the  Mac 
raes  by  any  McDuff.  You  may  be  sure  of  that." 

"But  how  can  you  prevent  it  ?  We  have  the  law 
on  our  side." 

'  'We'?"  I  thought  you  were  in  it.  Do  you 
think  I  will  tell  you  'how'  ?  And  as  to  the  law,  it 
may  be  on  our  side.  I  think  it  is." 

"Now,  Fame,  be  reasonable.  You  know  that  I 
love  you." 

"I  do  not  wish  you  to  love  me.  If  you  could 
put  your  love  in  my  hand  I  would  throw  it  away." 

"That  is  absolute  nonsense.  You  have  loved 
me  all  your  life." 

She  went  on  singing  and  did  not  answer  this 
statement. 

"And  you  are  going  to  marry  me,  Fame.  Be 
cause  you  know  that  if  you  do  not  marry  me 
your  father  will  have  to  flit.  That  is  the  long  and 
the  short  of  it." 

"And  the  height  and  the  depth  of  it  is  that  I 
would  rather  jump  into  the  Trodhu  chasm  than 
marry  you.  What  for  were  you  telling  Mr.  Mac 
kenzie  I  was  engaged  to  you?  You  knew  it  was 
a  lie." 

"I  do  not  tell  lies." 

"You  would  lie  to  the  devil.  I  have  no  more  to 
say  to  you.  Do  your  worst — I  am  not  afraid  of 
you." 


The  Inevitable  Question         167 

"Fame,  in  spite  of  your  temper,  you  know  that 
I  am  dear  to  you,  and  that  you  are  dear  to  me.  Be 
sensible,  my  sweet  girl !" 

"I  am  not  your  sweet  girl,  and  I  will  not  listen 
to  you. 

"  Til  buy  myself  a  tartan  plaid, 
And  follow  the  lad  wi'  the  white  cockade.'  " 

At  this  interruption  of  song  Shaw  became  black 
angry  at  the  scornful  girl,  and  he  said  passion 
ately  : 

"I  suppose  the  lad  wi'  the  white  cockade  is  Alan 
Mackenzie  ?  Well,  I  have  my  thumb  on  him  also." 

"Gilderoy  is  a  bonny  boy, 

Has  roses  to  his  shoon; 
His  stockings  are  of  silken  soy, 
His  garters  hanging  down." 

"Fame  Macrae,  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you  and 
the  old  man  if  you  do  not  stop  singing." 

"The  name  of  the  old  man  is  Mr.  Ian  Macrae 
when  you  find  good  manners  enough  to  say  it. 
And  I  am  not  caring  a  bone  button  for  your 
threats.  It  is  not  Beelzebub  rules  this  world,  or  I 
might  be  trying  to  please  you — 'Gilderoy  is  a 
bonny  boy' — " 

"Confound  you,  Fame !    I  will — " 

"If  you  swear  at  me  again  I  will  tell  the  min 
ister  of  you.  You  swear  at  me,  and  then  ask  me 


1 68  Souls  ot  Passage 

to  marry  you !  I  would  deserve  to  be  your  wife 
if  I  could  be  a  wicked  girl  like  that." 

"You  are  in  love  with  Alan  Mackenzie,  and  you 
think  he  is  in  love  with  you,  and  you  are  very 
much  mistaken ;  he  is  already — " 

"I  would  not  have  the  presumption  to  be  in  love 
with  Alan  Mackenzie.  I  am  far  from  judging 
myself  worthy  of  his  love." 

"Worthy!    Good  God!" 

"Go  out  of  this  house,  Shaw  McDuff.  How 
dare  you  take  the  Holy  One's  name  in  your  mouth 
as  a  witness  to  your  bad  temper  ?" 

"I  was  wrong,  very  far  wrong,  Fame.  It  is 
your  fault.  Your  beauty  and  your  scorn  drive 
me  crazy." 

"Keep  away  from  me.  I  am  far  from  seeking 
your  company.  I  can  do  well  without  it." 

"I  am  asking  you  once  more  to  be  my  wife — to 
be  Mrs.  Shaw  McDuff.  I  will  be  a  good  husband 
to  you.  Think  before  you  refuse  me." 

"Thank  you,  but  I  am  not  seeking  a  husband 
of  any  kind.  And  I  will  be  obliged  if  you  stop 
saying  to  any  one  that  I  am  engaged  to  you.  I 
am  caring  for  my  good  name,  sir.  And  now, 
if  you  will  not  leave  me,  I  will  bring  in  Effie 
Ross  and  Luckie  Wrath  to  hear  your  talking. 
For  I  do  not  think  myself  safe  in  your  hands 
without  witnesses.  That  much  I  am  knowing 
well." 


The  Inevitable  Question         169 

"I  have  been  loving  you  ever  since  you  were  a 
schoolgirl ;  is  this  the  end  of  our  wooing?" 

"This  is  the  very  end,  and  you  will  take  notice 
that  it  does  not  end  like  a  play  or  a  novel — Jack 
does  not  get  Jill."  Then  she  opened  a  side  door 
and  called,  "Effie,  Luckie,  come  here !  I  am  need 
ing  both  of  you,  and  that  instanter;"  and  as  the 
two  women  hurried  through  the  flagged  passage, 
Shaw  put  on  his  Glengarry,  and  clashing  the  door 
behind  him  went  fuming  away,  his  passion  wax 
ing  and  waxing  with  every  step  he  took.  The 
tumult  in  his  heart  was  at  first  a  chaotic  rage,  but 
it  soon  found  some  relief  in  the  constant  iteration 
of  two  enraging,  stormful  assertions : 

"This  is  Alan  Mackenzie's  doing!  By  fair  or 
foul,  I  will  marry  the  girl !" 


CHAPTER    VII. 

WHITHER?    WHEREFORE? 

UNDER  the  majestic  headlands  of  Ross,  tinged 
with  sapphire  loom  of  sunset,  the  Lapwing  was 
luffing  to  keep  the  failing  breeze;  but  the  tide 
was  running  with  her,  and  would  soon  be  at 
flood,  and  then  she  could  easily  bring  the  little 
harbor  of  Morandaroch.  Earne  was  sailing  her, 
Macrae  and  the  Mackenzies  silently  watching 
the  great  calm  ocean,  dim  with  heat  and  vapor, 
little  mountainous  islands  seeming  to  rise  out 
of  it.  When  the  sun  set,  up  rose  the  moon,  and 
the  Lapwing  made  her  way  through  quivering 
moonbeams. 

Now,  nature  does  not  initially  make  us  think, 
it  makes  us  feel;  and  the  visions  of  the  hills  and 
of  these  lonely  places  of  the  sea  filled  the  hearts 
of  the  watchers.  They  were  all  in  that  rare 
mood  when  the  over-belief,  which  we  call  super 
natural,  becomes  a  fundamental  truth;  and 
inward  voices  from  the  reality  of  unseen  things 
speaks  and  is  heard.  For,  beyond  all  peradven- 
ture, 


Whither?    Wherefore?          171 

"there  is  life  that  breathes  not,  powers  there  are 
That  touch  each  other  to  the  quick  in  modes 
Which  the  gross  world  no  sense  hath  to  perceive, 
No  soul  to  dream  of." 

The  long,  sensitive  silence  was  broken  by  Alan, 
who  exclaimed  almost  petulantly : 

"What  does  it  all  mean?  What  are  we?  What 
are  we  here  for?" 

Then  Macrae  turned  his  face  to  the  young 
man,  and  there  was  a  look  of  fire  in  it  as  he 
answered : 

"We  are  souls  of  passage.  We  are  here  for 
a  purchase." 

"For  a  purchase?" 

"Yes.  There  are  souls  who  have  finished  their 
course,  and  who  no  more  suffer  His  will,  because 
they  do  His  will.  They  are  His  messengers, 
crossing  their  glorious  pinions  between  the  con 
stellations,  or  floating  on  wings  of  silence 
through  all  the  sidereal  spaces.  But  there  are 
also  souls  of  passage  who  are  sometimes  here 
and  sometimes  there;  here,  for  a  purchase; 
there,  for  rest  and  restoration — a  marvellous 
school  of  transition,  in  which  for  the  hope  of 
attaining  unto  the  perfect  stature  of  the  Son  of 
God  the  deathless  spirit  becomes  a  little  child, 
and  dwells  in  a  house  of  clay;  and  though  sure 
of  its  immortality  submits  to  years  and  to  what 
we  are  calling  death." 


172  Souls  of  Passage 

"What  would  the  minister  say  to  such  a  belief, 
sir?" 

"My  faith  in  reincarnation  does  not  impair  my 
orthodoxy.  Man  in  all  his  stages  of  progression 
must  have  faith  and  a  creed  embodying  that 
faith;  and  I  am  doubting  if  any  creed  but  Calvin 
ism  would  have  dealt  with  the  wild  men  of  the 
Highlands.  In  my  past  life  or  lives  it  has  doubt 
less  been  a  good  schoolmaster  to  my  spiritual 
senses." 

"You  think,  then,  Ian,  that  you  have  lived  in 
this  world  before?  Having  left  it,  why  should 
you  come  back?"  asked  Mackenzie. 

"Why  should  I  not  be  coming  back  as  often 
as  I  can  acquire  fresh  knowledge  and  fresh 
experience?  Will  any  one  of  us  three,  Robert, 
be  carrying  away  so  much  from  this  life  as  to 
have  nothing  to  repay  us  for  returning  to  it?" 

"But  we  are  not  conscious  of  our  return,  nor 
do  we  remember  our  previous  existences." 

"Does  the  butterfly  take  with  it  into  the  air 
the  organs  and  desires  of  the  worm  from  which 
it  sprung?  Are  you  yourself,  Robert,  remember 
ing  what  happened  to  you  when  in  your  mother's 
arms?  Are  you  remembering  what  you  were 
doing  ten  years  ago,  five  years  ago,  one  year 
ago  at  this  time?  If  you  are  for  making  memory 
the  test  of  existence,  then  what  becomes  of  those 
parts  of  your  life  when  you  were  sleeping  or 


Whither?    Wherefore?          173 

unconscious,  or  which  you  have  forgotten?  It 
would  be  no  more  for  our  interest  to  remember 
our  past  than  it  would  be  to  foresee  our  future: 

"  'Oh,  wise  and  kind  that  love  that  leads  us  step  by  step !' 

But  I  say  it  on  my  faith  in  God's  love  that  sooner 
or  later  in  this  incarnation,  or  in  some  future 
one,  the  whole  of  our  training  will  be  revealed 
to  us.  When  we  are  ready  for  such  knowledge 
it  is  not  withheld.  And  they  who  have  ever  had 
it  can  smile  at  trouble  and  death.  They  know 
that  death  has  no  power  over  them." 

"If  we  could  come  back  adult,"  said  Alan,  "I 
could  accept  such  a  faith  gladly;  but  to  go 
through  childhood  again !" 

"That  is  the  wonderful  gate,"  cried  Macrae. 
"Only  God  could  have  thought  of  such  a  marvel 
lous  introduction  to  the  struggles  and  trials  of 
manhood  and  womanhood !  Think  of  your  own 
childhood,  Alan — its  joys,  its  flashes  of  illumina 
tion,  its  presages  of  work  and  wonders,  and  its 
dreams  of  self-denial  and  of  doing  good  and 
great  things.  If  you  had  come  adult,  you  would 
have  lost  all  the  opportunities  of  correction 
and  instruction,  which  as  a  child  you  took  will 
ingly  from  your  parents  and  teachers.  I  am 
thinking,  Alan,  the  childhood  of  each  incarnation 
is  as  necessary  as  the  manhood — maybe  more 
so." 


174  Souls  of  Passage 

"But,  Ian/'  said  Mackenzie,  "we  are  to  be 
made  perfect  not  by  living,  but  through  suffer- 
ing." 

"Just  so.  We  only  really  live  in  so  far  as  we 
do  feel  and  suffer.  Jesus  Christ,  the  Captain  of 
our  salvation,  was  made  perfect  through  suffer 
ing,  though  without  sin,  tempted  and  tried  in 
every  manner  possible  to  humanity.  But  this 
remits  not  our  necessary  discipline  in  the  same 
school : 

"  'Though  Christ  a  thousand  times  in  Bethlehem  be  born, 
But  not  within  ourselves,  our  souls  will  be  forlorn; 
The  Cross  of  Golgotha  we  look  unto  in  vain, 
Unless  within  ourselves  it  be  set  up  again.'  " 

"I  have  often  had  intuitions  like  these,"  said 
Mackenzie,  "but  have  not  dared  to  pursue 
them." 

"What  is  intuition?  Inborn  experience,  that 
which  the  soul  knoweth  of  old  and  from  former 
lives.  For  all  our  earth  experiences  are  stored 
up  as  tendencies  and  are  transmitted  through 
an  unbroken  individuality.  All  of  us  to-day  are 
the  result  of  the  infinite  past  through  which 
we  have  sinned,  suffered,  learned,  and  enjoyed. 
Rory  Beg,  the  saddler,  does  not  remember  every 
stitch  he  took  when  an  apprentice;  but  every 
stitch  helped  to  make  him  a  saddler.  You  may 


Whither  ?    Wherefore  ?          1 75 

not  remember  every  life  you  have  lived,  Robert, 
but  every  one  has  helped  to  make  you  just  what 
you  are." 

"Then  you  think  we  are  immortal  as  regards 
the  past,  as  well  as  the  future?" 

"You  may  assure  yourself,  Robert,  that  God's 
love  for  you  does  not  date  from  your  nativity 
fifty  years  ago.  He  has  loved  you  with  an 
everlasting  love.  Is  it  likely  He  made  us  a 
half-eternal  being?  Have  we  an  existence  with 
but  one  end?  No,  no!  A  line  must  have  two 
ends,  whether  it  be  physical  or  spiritual.  'The 
Eternal  God  is  thy  refuge,  and  underneath  are 
the  everlasting  arms.'  How  did  Moses  rise  to 
this  height?  I  saw  Alan  lift  one  of  Charles 
Kingsley's  books  the  other  day.  In  it  he  says 
these  words,  'Out  of  God's  bosom,  the  fount  of 
life,  we  came,  through  selfish,  stormy  youth, 
through  manhood  not  altogether  useless, 
through  calm  and  slow  old  age;  with  many  con 
trite  tears  we  return  whence  we  came,  to  go 
forth  again  with  fresh  powers  and  higher  knowl 
edge  to  nobler  work.' ' 

"I  thought  Kingsley  was  thoroughly  ortho 
dox." 

"So  he  is,  and  so  also  was  Dr.  Priestley, 
yet  in  his  correspondence  with  Dr.  Price  (page 
372)  he  says  reincarnation  is  'the  original  doc- 


176  Souls  of  Passage 

trine  of  the  soul,  and  what  is  necessary  to 
make  the  Christian  system  complete  and  consist 
ent.'  " 

"Is  not  that  saying  too  much,  Ian?" 

"No.  Without  reincarnation  the  terrible  in 
equalities  of  birth  are  inexplicable.  Pour  into 
a  vessel  holding  one  hundred  alkaline  bases  an 
acid,  and  it  will  with  unerring  certainty  combine 
with  the  alkali,  and  that  only,  for  which  it  has 
the  greatest  affinity.  In  the  same  way  the 
wretched  babe  born  of  drunken,  vicious  parents, 
amid  surroundings  of  want  and  woe,  is  justly 
born  so;  for  it  has  created  in  a  former  life  such 
attractions  as  render  it  impossible  to  be  born 
under  any  other  conditions.  If  we  three  had 
been  other  than  we  were  in  the  past,  we  should 
be  other  than  we  are  to-day.  We  were  born 
when  and  where  we  were  because  our  condition 
was  what  it  was.  Thus,  character  is  destiny. 
Reincarnation  is  eternal  justice.  It  does  not 
permit  us  to  blame  Adam,  or  Eve,  or  our  par 
ents,  or  our  fate,  or  our  God." 

"Then  we  make  our  own  destiny?"  asked 
Alan. 

"Yes;  for  we  are  reaping  just  what  we  sow. 
The  winds  of  God  are  blowing  all  the  time.  If 
our  sails  are  set,  we  catch  them  and  go  onward. 
If  they  are  furled,  we  do  not  catch  them.  We 
are  tossed  hither  and  thither,  delayed,  and  make 


Whither?    Wherefore?          177 

no  progress.    Is  that  the  wind's  fault?    It  is  our 
own  fault." 

"I  know,"  answered  Alan;  "I  know  well  that 
when  I  do  wrong  nothing  and  no  one  is  to  blame 
but  myself.  It  is  I  and  I  only." 

"Then,  Alan,  when  you  realize  this,  stand  up 
like  a  man  and  say,  'It  is  my  own  doing,  there 
fore,  I  can  undo  it.  The  condition  I  have  made 
I  can  unmake.  If  others  had  made  it  or  it  was 
my  predestined  fate,  I  might  despair;  but  as  it 
is  my  own  work  I  can  demolish  it.  All  the 
strength  I  want  is  in  myself  and  in  Him  who 
gives  grace  to  help  in  every  hour  of  need.  I  will 
bury  my  dead  past.  I  will  never  forget  that 
every  thought  and  act  is  laid  up  by  myself  for 
myself.  No  such  effort  can  be  lost,  for  soul 
force,  like  all  other  forms  of  force,  must  have 
results.  It  is  a  cause,  and  in  the  eternal  law  of 
nature  must  have  its  corresponding  effect.  In 
deed,  the  affinity  which  in  reincarnation  guides 
a  soul  to  its  most  fitting  body  is  but  an  example 
of  the  law  of  force,  taking  the  direction  of  the 
least  resistance." 
•?  "When  life  ceases — " 

"Man!  Man  Robert!  life  never  ceases.  Death 
is  like  the  setting  of  the  sun.  The  sun  never 
sets,  life  never  ceases;  only  certain  phenomena 
occur,  which  are  purely  illusive  and  occasioned 
in  both  cases  by  the  feebleness  of  human  vision. 


178  Souls  of  Passage 

But  I  have  said  more  than  enough,  because  too 
many  phases  of  the  subject  have  been  brought 
forward,  and  none  of  them  fully  discussed.  The 
joy  of  knowledge  is  in  its  acquirement.  I  have 
set  the  door  open,  go  in  and  buy  the  truth  for 
yourselves.  We  are  now  with  the  herring  boats, 
shall  we  stay  and  see  them  draw  the  nets?" 

"No,"  answered  Mackenzie.  "We  will  just 
walk  quietly  home.  You  have  filled  my  heart, 
Ian;  I  feel  as  I  never  felt  before  the  greatness  of 
my  destiny." 

"A  little  lower  than  the  angels,  Robert;  and 
aye  growing  nearer  to  them.  To  become  a 
celestial  being,  that  is  the  glorious  aim  and  hope 
of  every  soul  of  passage." 

There  was  no  further  conversation;  the  two 
older  men  stood  silently  together  watching  the 
herring  boats,  Mackenzie's  hand  resting  lovingly 
on  Macrae's  shoulder;  and  Alan  and  Earne  were 
equally  satisfied  with  each  other's  quiet  com 
panionship.  Alan  stood  by  the  helm,  Earne  cast 
eyes  full  of  devotion  on  him,  and  Alan  answered 
such  glances  with  a  smile  of  confidence  that  was 
meat  and  drink  to  Earne's  affection,  which  was 
canine-like  in  its  unreasoning  attachment. 

They  parted  at  the  pier,  Earne  remaining  on 
the  boat,  Macrae  going  to  his  home,  and  the 
Mackenzies  taking  the  nearest  road  to  Dun- 


Whith  er  ?    Wherefore  ?          179 

brack.  They  spoke  very  seldom  as  they  climbed 
the  hill;  Macrae  had  troubled  their  deepest 
thoughts,  and  the  solemnity  of  the  walk  through 
the  dark,  whispering  wood  intensified  the  spirit 
ual  wistfulness  of  their  half-believing. 

As  they  approached  the  castle  there  was  a 
sound  of  music  and  singing  that  clashed  unpleas 
antly  with  their  mood;  and  when  they  entered 
the  parlor  the  scene  was  still  more  antagonistic, 
for  Shaw  had  brought  up  some  foolish  but 
exceedingly  taking  negro  melody,  and  every  one 
seemed  possessed  by  its  nonsensical  spirit.  Mrs. 
Mackenzie  was  laughing,  Jessie  and  Flora  laugh 
ing  and  singing,  and  Shaw  was  just  emphasizing 
with  a  pirouette  the  last  ridiculous  line  of  the 
chorus.  The  whole  atmosphere  of  the  room 
was  that  of  unreality  and  folly.  The  provost 
very  quickly  left  it,  and  Alan  soon  became 
angry;  for  the  attitude  of  Shaw  with  Flora  and 
Jessie  was,  in  Alan's  opinion,  far  too  familiar. 
He  resented  his  officious  amiability  at  the  piano; 
he  noticed  that  Shaw  stooped  his  head  to  Flora's 
head  when  there  was  no  occasion  for  such  inti 
macy;  and  that  his  hand  managed  to  come  in 
contact  with  Flora's  hand  in  turning  the  pages 
of  the  song.  And  he  thought  Flora  was  more 
friendly  than  she  ought  to  have  been.  Besides 
which,  she  had  hardly  noticed  his  entrance;  in 


180  Souls  of  Passage 

fact,  she  had  included  his  father  and  himself  in 
her  welcome,  and  he  felt  that  he  ought  to  have 
received  some  special  notice. 

But  Flora  was  a  little  offended  at  being  left 
all  day  without  any  notice  of  such  intention,  and 
she  had  had,  for  the  first  time,  a  vague  jealousy 
of  Fame.  She  believed  Fame  had  been  in  the 
Lapwing  with  them,  while  she  had  not  even 
been  asked  to  share  their  sail.  And  her  deep, 
almost  instinctive,  doubt  of  Alan  was  evidenced 
by  her  making  inquiry  about  Fame  in  the  pro 
vost's  presence.  She  felt,  whether  she  acknowl 
edged  the  feeling  or  not,  that  Alan  could  not 
deceive  her  if  his  father  was  present ;  and  she  was 
not  sure  of  him  otherwise.  So  as  soon  as  the 
nonsensical  song  was  over  she  asked : 

"Did  you  take  Fame  with  you?  She  said  she 
would  be  here  to-day,  and  she  has  not  kept  her 
promise." 

"No,"  answered  Alan;  "we  did  not  take  any 
one  with  us." 

"Did  you  see  her  this  morning?" 

"For  a  short  time.  She  was  going  to  give  us 
a  lunch,  but  I  did  not  let  her.  We  lunched  on 
the  boat." 

"I  wonder  she  did  not  come  up  here." 

"I  heard  her  father  tell  her  not  to  leave  the 
house.  He  said  something  about  his  papers 
lying  loose." 


Whither?    Wherefore?         181 

At  this  point  the  provost  left  the  room,  and 
Mrs.  Mackenzie  shortly  after  called  her  son  into 
the  dining-room.  Dinner  was  ready  for  them, 
and  Alan  was  not  loth  to  go.  He  divined  the 
jealous  feeling  that  had  prompted  Flora's  in 
quiries,  and  he  was  ashamed  before  his  own  soul. 
Yet  he  was  hungry,  and  he  ate  heartily  and 
silently,  the  laughing  and  talking  in  the  parlor 
pricking  him  like  pins  the  while;  but  when  his 
appetite  had  been  satisfied  he  said  he  had  a  tired 
headache  and  needed  sleep,  and  so  made  his 
escape  from  circumstances  which,  that  night,  he 
did  not  care  to  oppose  or  control. 

The  provost  nodded  understandingly  to  his 
son.  He  thought  Macrae  was  at  the  bottom  of 
his  averseness  to  company — as  he  undoubtedly 
was  in  a  great  measure — and  he  said  to  his  wife, 
"Alan  has  a  fine  spiritual  nature,  Marian ;  Macrae 
has  been  talking  to-night,  I  have  told  you  before 
in  what  manner,  and  Alan  was  much  impressed." 

"I  am  not  sure  if  such  talk  is  good  for  Alan 
— I  don't  believe  it  is,"  she  answered.  "Calvin 
ism  is  the  best  of  anchors  for  a  lad  like  Alan.  He 
needs  something  solid  and  sure  to  tie  to,  and 
Calvinism  won't  let  him  float  on  this  and  that 
tide  of  feeling  and  supposition;  it  fastens  him 
to  a  rock." 

"Is  it  well  to  be  fastened?" 

"It  is  over-late  to  settle  that  question  to-night, 


1 82  Souls  of  Passage 

Robert;  and  I  am  going  to  send  the  lassies  off 
to  their  bed.  Go  there  yourself,  and  get  a  good 
sleep;  I'm  not  caring  for  you  to  sit  half  the  night 
wide-awake  and  dreaming." 

The  next  three  days  were  wet  and  stormy; 
no  one  could  leave  the  house,  but  they  were 
happy  days  to  Alan.  In  them  he  more  than 
recovered  his  ground  with  Flora,  and  when  they 
wearied  of  talking  about  themselves  they  re 
verted  with  ever-increasing  interest  to  Macrae's 
faith  in  reincarnation.  Flora  had  many  personal 
reasons  for  accepting  it;  indeed,  she  declared 
that  her  whole  life  at  Dunbrack  had  been  one 
of  recollection;  that  the  house  was  familiar  to 
her;  that  she  could  feel  the  tragedies  to  which 
certain  rooms  had  been  witnesses;  that  she  knew 
the  men  and  women  whose  pictured  faces  re 
mained  in  it;  that  she  loved  some  and  feared 
and  hated  others,  and  was  conscious  that  they 
belonged  to  her,  and  she  to  them.  Many  strange 
experiences,  hitherto  hidden  in  her  heart,  she 
revealed  to  Alan;  and  when  she  found  that  he 
thoroughly  understood  and  believed  her,  she 
loved  him  for  it  with  the  highest  love  in  her 
nature. 

And  never  before  had  Alan  been  so  much  in 
love  with  the  girl  he  had  chosen  for  his  wife.  He 
lost  at  times  all  power  and  all  desire  to  hide  his 
affection  for  her  under  that  guise  of  familiar 


Whither  ?    Wherefore  ?          183 

friendship  which  had  hitherto  been  sufficient; 
and  Mrs.  Mackenzie  said  to  Jessie  she  was  very 
sure  all  their  light-hearted  daffing  and  serious 
talking  would  end  in  standing  before  a  minister, 
and  getting  a  house  of  their  own. 

Jessie  would  not  admit  this  likelihood.  She 
thought  the  bad  weather  would  account  for  it. 
"What  could  young  people  do  for  amusement, 
shut  in  the  house  together,  but  make  love  after 
some  fashion?"  she  asked,  adding,  "Alan  wasters 
everything  he  has,  even  his  heart  love.  Don't 
set  him  thinking  of  marrying  just  yet,  mother; 
one  wedding  in  a  twelvemonth  is  enough,  even 
for  a  provost  of  Glasgow.  But  I  will  say  this 
much,  if  Fame  Macrae  does  not  interfere,  I  am 
pretty  sure  we  shall  count  Flora  in  our  family. 
I  am  not  opposed  to  it,  neither  is  James." 

"Your  father  is  anxious  for  it,  and  I  am  think 
ing  Alan  could  easily  seek  further  and  fare 
worse." 

"Well,  mother,  everything  in  its  season.  This 
bridal  is  not  bespoken  yet — let  alone  other 
reasons." 

"It  is  just  uncommon  likely,  though.  I  have 
seen  things,  and  I  am  not  dull  in  the  uptake." 

"What  about  contingencies,  mother?  You 
must  always  take  them  into  account;  and  Fame 
is  a  very  strong  contingency." 

"You  are  a  far,  forecasting  woman,  Jessie. 


184  Souls  of  Passage 

I  don't  think  Fame  is  a  contingency  at  all. 
Fame  will  marry  Shaw." 

"Fame  hates  Shaw." 

"That  is  neither  here  nor  there.  She  is  in  the 
power  of  the  charmer — or  the  snare  of  the 
fowler,  if  you  think  that  best — and  she  has  not 
the  strength  to  step  outside  of  it." 

"I  think  you  are  wrong;  but  what  for  are  we 
talking  about  possibilities  when  there  are  cer 
tainties  enough  to  keep  us  busy?" 

"Well,  then,  let  it  all  go  for  a  passing  remark. 
When  is  James  coming?" 

"Not  until  the  day  before  our  marriage;  and 
he  wants  to  leave  as  soon  as  the  ceremony  is 
over." 

"Ceremony !  It  is  little  of  that  you  are  having 
— the  service  and  a  bit  of  breakfast  and  not  half 
a  dozen  to  break  the  bride  cake  with  you.  I 
hope  when  Alan  marries  he  will  be  understand 
ing  the  meaning  of  'ceremony'  better." 

Then  Alan  came  whistling  into  the  room. 
He  had  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  said  he  was 
going  to  the  boat,  and  might  not  be  home  to 
dinner." 

"Where  is  your  father?"  asked  Mrs.  Mac 
kenzie. 

"He  is  gone  with  Macrae  to  see  his  head 
shepherd,  Ivan  Crieff.  They  will  talk  all  day. 
Ivan  is  a  strange  creature." 


Whither?    Wherefore?          185 

"However,  Alan  did  not  go  to  the  Lapwing. 
Before  he  reached  her  pier  some  one  touched 
him  on  the  shoulder.  It  was  Shaw  McDuff,  and 
Alan  felt  it  was  Shaw  McDuff,  though  he  pre 
tended  to  be  astonished. 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you  particularly,  Mr. 
Mackenzie,"  he  said;  "will  you  come  into  my 
poor  house?" 

"  'Mr.  Mackenzie'  and  'your  poor  house.' 
What  do  you  mean,  Shaw?  I  am  going  on  the 
water,  will  you  come  with  me?" 

"No.  I  have  a  question  or  two  to  ask  you." 
Then  they  went  into  Shaw's  "poor  house,"  and 
as  soon  as  they  were  seated  Shaw  took  from 
his  pocket-book  a  piece  of  paper  Alan  recognized 
only  too  well.  "When  can  you  pay  this?"  he 
asked  a  little  peremptorily. 

"It  is  not  due  yet,  Shaw.  You  said  it  could 
stand  until  the  end  of  September." 

"It  was  due  on  the  twentieth  of  August.  I 
made  a  foolish  promise,  which  circumstances 
compel  me  to  retract.  I  want  the  money  for 
investment,  and  I  want  it  now." 

"I  have  not  got  it  to  give  you.  But  I  shall 
have  it  before  the  end  of  September." 

"That  will  not  suit  me.  The  note  is  drawn 
on  Robert  Mackenzie  and  Company.  It  is  over 
due.  Robert  Mackenzie  is  here,  why  not  ask 
him  to  meet  it  at  once?" 


1 86  Souls  of  Passage 

"Father  is  here  for  a  holiday.  He  is  trying 
not  to  speak  or  even  think  of  money.  I  should 
be  very  sorry  to  intrude  business  on  him  at 
present." 

"Two  hundred  pounds  cannot  be  'business'  to 
Robert  Mackenzie  and  Company.  If  you  do  not 
like  to  ask  him  for  it,  I  have  no  such  scruples." 

"Shaw,  you  must  not  ask  him.  I  beg  you,  as 
a  particular  favor,  to  wait  a  little  longer.  If  I 
knew  where  to  find  Harry  Seaford,  he  owes  me 
three  hundred  pounds,  and  would  doubtless 
pay  it." 

"Harry  Seaford  owes  you  three  hundred 
pounds?  That  is  strange." 

"I  loaned  him  the  money  when  he  went  to 
France  last  spring.  I  have  not  seen  him  since, 
nor  have  I  heard  from  him  for  eight  or  ten 
weeks." 

"I  can  tell  you  where  to  find  him.  He  is  at 
Colonel  Forfar's.  You  might  ride  over  to  Forfar 
Lodge;  it  is  only  thirty  miles  and  a  good  road 
all  the  way." 

"I  will  do  so,  but  promise  me  that  you  will 
not  trouble  my  father  while  I  am  away." 

"My  proposal  implies  that.  I  hope,  at  least, 
you  consider  me  a  gentleman." 

"Why  are  you  asking  me  for  the  money  now, 
Shaw?  You  said  of  your  own  good  will  it  could 
stand  until  the  end  of  September — that  if  I  paid 


Whither  ?    Wherefore  ?          187 

you  before  leaving  Dunbrack  it  would  be  all 
right.  Of  course,  I  have  not  thought  of  the 
matter  since  that  promise.  I  was  very  much 
obliged  to  you  for  it,  and  I  am  certainly  much 
astonished  at  the  withdrawal  of  the  favor." 

"There  have  been  some  things  in  your  behav 
ior  that  I  also  have  been  astonished  at;  for 
instance,  your  interference  with  Miss  Macrae." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  what  I  say.  You  have  been  trying 
to  steal  Miss  Macrae's  affection  from  me  by  your 
blandishments  and  cajoleries.  I  have  watched 
you.  I  told  you  I  was  engaged  to  her,  and  yet 
you  go  on  interfering." 

"I  was  not  aware  that  a  woman's  love  could 
be  stolen.  And  if  I  could  steal  it,  I  wouldn't 
have  it.  You  do  Miss  Macrae,  as  well  as  myself, 
great  injustice;  and  although  it  is  not  my  way  to 
speak  of  things  so  strictly  personal,  I  will,  under 
the  circumstances,  tell  you  a  fact  which  may 
convince  you  of  the  foolishness  of  your  accusa 
tion.  I  was  engaged  to  another  lady  before  I 
ever  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Miss  Macrae." 

"A  Glasgow  lady?" 

"No;  a  foreigner." 

"Oh— h— h!  I  heard  about  that  from  Will 
Gilbraith — an  Italian  singer — he  said  you  were 
crazy  about  her." 

".Will   Gilbraith  has   my   permission   to   talk 


1 88  Souls  of  Passage 

about  his  own  love  affairs,"  said  Alan  in  a 
passion  that  was  entirely  assumed,  but  which 
effectively  put  an  end  to  a  very  delicate  cate 
chism.  "If  Seaford  is  at  Forfar  Lodge,"  he 
continued,  "I  will  go  and  see  him.  I  will  return 
home  at  once  and  prepare  for  the  visit." 

Then  Shaw  became  conciliating.  He  consid 
ered  that  Alan  would  probably  be  three  days 
from  home,  during  which  time  Flora  and  Fame 
would  be  dependent  on  his  society.  The  oppor 
tunity  was  too  promising  to  be  thrown  away  for 
a  few  soft  words,  so  he  put  the  note  back  in  his 
pocket-book,  saying,  "I  do  not  wish  to  annoy 
you  unnecessarily,  Alan.  But  I  really  want  the 
money,  and  I  should  judge,  from  what  I  saw  of 
Seaford,  that  he  has  plenty  of  cash  to  pay  his 
debts.  At  any  rate,  I  will  give  you  a  week  to 
see  what  you  can  do  with  him." 

"Thank  you!  I  will  do  the  best  I  can,  and 
that  as  soon  as  possible." 

Then  Alan  returned  to  Dunbrack,  dressed 
himself  for  the  long  ride,  and  with  some  plausible 
story  of  an  invitation  just  received  from  Seaford, 
started  on  his  disagreeable  journey.  He  was 
very  angry  at  Shaw's  violation  of  his  promise, 
and  understood  that  he  had  practically  sent  him 
out  of  his  way.  But  it  was  one  of  those  wrongs 
that  prudence  counsels  patience  for;  and  he 
reflected  as  he  rode  drearily  over  the  hills  that 


Whither?    Wherefore?          189 

all  the  world  pursue  their  own  interests  at  their 
neighbor's  charges,  and  that  nobody  is  pleased 
but  somebody  complains  of  it. 

"He  will  be  at  Dunbrack  as  soon  as  he  thinks 
I  am  half  a  mile  away,  and  will  very  likely  tell 
them  I  asked  him  to  take  my  place.  He  is  quite 
capable  of  the  lie."  This  was  not  the  worst  of 
Alan's  reflections;  he  had  the  feeling  that  he  was 
going  on  a  fool's  errand — Seaford  might  have 
been  there,  and  left;  or  he  might  never  have  been 
there;  or  if  there,  he  might  be  unable  to  pay  him. 
Men  did  not  usually  carry  three  hundred  pounds 
in  their  pockets;  and  then  he  turned  heartsick 
as  he  asked  himself,  "If  any  of  these  things 
happen  what  am  I  to  do?" 

He  had  not  settled  that  question  when  he 
reached  Forfar  Lodge.  He  found  Seaford  there, 
but  he  was  as  poor  as  he  had  been  when  he 
borrowed  the  money;  and  he  was  quite  displeased 
at  being  "dunned  for  a  paltry  three  hundred 
pounds,"  which,  he  reminded  Alan,  had  been 
"voluntarily  loaned  him  without  any  set  time  for 
repayment."  And  Alan  knew  this  statement  was 
correct.  It  was  really  the  price  he  had  paid  for 
his  introduction  to  the  fashionable  club  and  set 
to  which  Seaford  belonged;  and  he  felt  acutely 
the  meanness  of  the  position  in  which  he  had 
been  compelled  to  place  himself. 

And  Seaford's  attitude  evidently  set  his  stand- 


190  Souls  of  Passage 

ing  and  welcome  at  the  Forfar's.  He  was 
certainly  treated  with  courtesy,  but  that  was  a 
poor  thing  in  comparison  with  the  hearty  greet 
ing  that  generally  awaited  his  visits.  The  men 
were  not  of  his  caste;  they  were  of  the  army  or 
the  nobility,  and  did  not  think  much  of  the  son 
of  a  provost  of  Glasgow.  The  women  looked 
more  favorable  on  the  handsome  young  man, 
but  that  did  not  increase  his  popularity  with  the 
male  element;  and  throughout  all  there  was  an 
atmosphere  which  quite  prevented  him  from 
doing  himself  justice.  He  was  mortified  at  his 
social  failure  and  bitterly  annoyed  at  the  offended 
manner  in  which  Seaford  had  taken  his  "dun 
ning;"  and  he  realized  that  night  the  folly  of 
lending  money — he  had  lost  his  three  hundred 
pounds  and  also  the  friendship  he  had  thought 
to  buy  with  them. 

One  night  in  such  unsympathetic  quarters 
was  quite  plenty  for  Alan,  and  though  the  morn 
ing  brought  every  indication  of  a  severe  storm, 
he  would  not  accept  the  civility  which  thought 
"he  had  better  remain  under  cover."  On  the 
contrary,  he  was  glad  to  get  from  under  the 
Forfar  roof  and  among  the  hills.  The  rain  and 
the  wind  suited  his  angry,  chagrined  mood.  It 
was  not  more  against  him  than  his  friends  had 
been.  Shaw  had  designedly  sent  him  to  meet 
the  cool  civility  of  the  Forfars  and  the  lordly 


Whither?    Wherefore?          191 

disdain  of  Seaford.  And  he  readily  imagined 
the  kind  of  conversation  which  was  really  taking 
place  among  the  men  in  the  smoking-room. 

"I  owe  the  fellow  three  hundred  pounds,  and 
he  is  cad  enough  to  follow  me  about  the  High 
lands  for  it — the  trading  instinct;  hereditary, 
I  suppose.  His  father  has  made  a  pot  of 
money." 

"I  suppose,"  drawled  Lord  Cupar,  "he 
thought  it  would  be  a  good  opportunity  to  get 
in  with  us." 

Then  the  company  included  in  "us"  laughed, 
and  Seaford  felt  that  he  owed  nothing  to  himself, 
and  was  indeed  rather  admired  for  being  able 
to  get  three  hundred  pounds  out  of  a  provost's 
son. 

Before  noon  the  storm  had  become  furious; 
trees  were  crashing  around  him,  his  horse  could 
scarcely  keep  his  feet,  and  he  himself  found  it 
difficult  to  keep  his  saddle.  The  wind  seemed 
to  blow  from  every  quarter,  and  he  was  the 
solitary  human  figure  in  miles  of  hurricane; 
while  every  mile  that  brought  him  nearer  to  the 
seacoast  brought  him  closer  to  the  heart  of  the 
tempest.  As  the  day  progressed  the  pouring 
rain  made  the  streams  he  had  to  cross  formida 
ble;  the  smaller  bridges  began  to  give  way,  and 
he  knew  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  pro 
ceed  much  farther.  Fortunately,  there  was  a 


192  Souls  of  Passage 

small  inn  at  no  great  distance,  yet  it  was  only 
by  braving  constant  dangers  from  falling  timber 
and  rising  water  that  he  finally  reached  its 
shelter. 

He  had  come  half  the  distance,  and  he  hoped 
the  storm  would  spend  itself  during  the  night, 
and  allow  him  to  resume  his  journey  on  the 
morning  of  the  following  day.  But  it  was  after 
noon  before  he  could  venture  to  do  so,  and  even 
then  it  was  in  defiance  of  the  innkeeper's  urgent 
persuasions  not  to  attempt  it.  He  was  "sure 
that  the  bridges  were  down,  or  unsafe — the 
flooded  streams  running  deep  and  rapidly — and 
the  rain  still  heavy  on  the  seaboard." 

But  these  things  were  as  nothing  compared 
with  the  stress  and  hurry  in  Alan's  mind.  There 
was  now  before  him  such  an  urgent  necessity  for 
the  two  hundred  pounds  due  to  Shaw  McDuff 
that  he  could  think  of  nothing  else,  and  every 
moment  of  delay  produced  in  him  a  kind  of  sick 
impatience.  Black  clouds  trailed  across  the  pale 
sky,  and  the  ceaseless  rain  swept  in  impetuous 
bursts  before  blasts  of  lamentable  wind.  The 
storm-beat  and  storm-felled  trees  were  full  of 
menace;  and  where  the  hills  were  open  they  were 
blind  with  streaming  rain.  But  Alan  pushed 
doggedly  on,  showing,  even  in  such  persever 
ance,  a  strength  of  will  in  resolve  that  he  was  not 
himself  conscious  of. 


"  THE    CEASELESS    KAIX    SWEPT    IN    IMPETUOUS   BURSTS." 


Whither  ?    Wherefore  ?          193 

When  the  sun  set  there  was  only  the  faintest 
twilight,  and  the  sound  of  turbulent  water 
courses  troubled  the  night  on  every  side.  He 
remembered  then  that  about  a  mile  from  Dun- 
brack  there  was  a  mountain  brook  always  dan 
gerous  after  a  severe  rain-storm,  and  that  if  the 
bridge  over  the  brook  had  been  carried  away,  he 
would  be  compelled  to  retrace  his  steps  for  two 
miles  and  take  the  longer  route.  At  the  turning 
place  he  hesitated;  prudence  suggested  that  he 
had  better  select  the  sure  road  at  first;  but  he 
was  exceeding  weary,  and  the  element  of  "trust 
ing  to  luck,"  which  was  a  pronounced  feature  in 
his  character,  decided  him  to  try  the  nearest  way 
home.  Besides,  this  was  the  very  brook  over 
whose  placid,  silvery  waters  he  had  received 
Flora's  promise  of  love,  and  he  would  not  believe 
it  could  now  hold  any  threat  for  him. 

When  he  reached  the  spot  it  was  nearly  dark, 
and  he  cautiously  felt  his  way  down  the  slight 
incline  which  led  to  the  bridge.  It  was  still 
there;  his  horse's  fore  feet  were  upon  it;  he 
struck  the  topmost  railing  with  his  whip.  Then 
a  wild,  piercing  call  arrested  him : 

"Master  Alan,  go  back!  Go  back!  The  bridge 
is  down  in  the  middle!" 

"Is  that  you,  Earne?"  he  asked;  for  he  knew 
Earne's  voice,  and  in  the  clearer  light  of  the 
space  at  the  bridge  entrance  he  saw  Earne  dis- 


194  Souls  of  Passage 

tinctly  enough.  "Can  I  not  cross,  Earne?"  he 
cried. 

"Go  back,  sir,  or  you  will  be  drowned!" 

"Thank  you  for  the  warning,  Earne;  I  will 
remember  this  kindness."  To  these  words  there 
was  no  reply,  but  he  saw  Earne  take  the  road 
toward  the  parting  of  the  paths,  and  he  retraced 
his  steps,  expecting  to  join  him  where  the  two 
ways  met.  But  he  did  not,  and  after  waiting  a 
few  minutes  he  hastened  home  as  quickly  as 
possible. 

His  arrival  at  Dunbrack  made  a  sensation. 
No  one  had  imagined  it  possible  for  a  horseman 
to  take  the  journey  in  such  weather;  and  at  the 
very  moment  he  entered  the  dining-room  they 
were  wondering  how  he  was  spending  the  time 
at  Forfar  Lodge.  The  family  were  at  dinner, 
and  Alan  quickly  took  his  place  among  them. 
He  was  much  exhausted  and  very  hungry,  and 
exceedingly  glad  to  be  at  home  and  with  his 
kindred  again. 

"Indeed,"  he  said  with  a  glow  of  honest  grati 
tude,  "I  never  should  have  been  here  any  more 
in  this  body  but  for  the  love  of  Earne  Macrae. 
I  was  just  going  to  cross  the  bridge  at  the  Deer 
Pass  when  he  called  to  me  that  it  was  down  in 
the  middle,  and  that  if  I  attempted  to  cross — " 

At  this  point  Alan  noticed  that  every  one  was 
looking  at  him  with  faces  full  of  amazement  and 


Whither?    Wherefore?          195 

terror;  that  his  mother  uttered  some  excited 
exclamation,  while  his  father  asked  in  a  voice  of 
wondering  awe: 

"Who  warned  you  of  the  broken  bridge?" 

"Earne." 

"Impossible!" 

"It  was  Earne.  I  am  sure  of  that." 

"Did  you  see  him?" 

"Yes.  I  could  not  mistake  his  figure  and  the 
way  in  which  he  lifted  his  cap  as  he  called  above 
the  blast,  'Master  Alan,  go  back!  Go  back!  The 
bridge  is  down  in  the  middle!'  Besides,  I  should 
know  Earne's  voice  under  all  circumstances.  I 
am  as  sure  it  was  Earne  as  I  am  of  my  own 
identity.  It  was  just  like  Earne,  also,  to  watch 
for  me  and  warn  me.  Why  do  you  doubt  it?" 

"Earne  is  dead!  He  was  drowned  yesterday. 
The  Lapwing  went  to  the  bottom,  and  Earne 
with  her." 

For  a  moment  Alan  looked  at  his  father, 
wondering,  scarce  believing,  then  his  hands  fell, 
he  grew  white  as  death,  and  before  any  one 
could  reach  him  fell  forward,  senseless.  And 
when  after  long  efforts  he  was  restored  to  con 
sciousness,  he  came  back  with  such  passionate 
grief  as  smote  every  one  that  heard  him  with 
a  sense  of  more  than  mortal  sorrow. 

"Oh,  Earne !  Earne !"  he  cried,  "you  said  you 
would  repay  me.  Living  or  dead,  you  said  you 


196  Souls  of  Passage 

would  repay  me!    Oh,  my  brother!  my  brother 
Earne!" 

They  comforted  and  nourished  and  wept  with 
him,  and  talked  long  over  the  circumstance;  and 
finally  Alan  was  strangely  lifted  up  by  the 
knowledge  of  such  faithful  love  beyond  the 
depths  of  the  ocean,  beyond  the  shore  and  shoal 
of  this  life;  and  when  he  was  alone  in  the  night 
he  called  Earne  by  name,  and  was  answered. 
For  if  we  truly  call,  we  shall  be  heard;  and  if  we 
listen,  we  shall  hear. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LIKE    AS    A    FATHER    PITIETH    HIS    CHILDREN. 

WHEN  Alan  awoke  the  next  morning  his  sor 
row  and  anxiety  quickly  found  him  out.  Earne's 
death,  the  loss  of  his  boat,  the  two  hundred 
pounds  he  must  get  without  delay,  and  at  any  cost 
— and  the  urgency  of  the  last  dilemma  made  it  the 
foremost  of  his  deliberations.  His  thoughts  of 
help  naturally  went  first  to  his  mother ;  but  though 
he  knew  her  heart  would  never  fail  him,  he  also 
knew  that  she  never  had  any  money  either  to  lend 
or  to  give.  It  was  one  of  her  small,  prideful 
peculiarities  to  boast  that  "she  couldn't  distract 
herself  with  the  purse;  she  looked  well  after  the 
meat,  and  the  provost,  honest  man!  looked  well 
after  the  money;  never  asking  the  price  of  any 
thing,  but  writing  a  bit  paper  that  settled  all 
things." 

Alan  had  heard  his  mother  utter  such  senti 
ments  a  thousand  times,  and  had  found  out  by 
experience  that  she  always  had  the  will,  but  never 
the  cash  to  help  his  necessities.  And  he  knew  also 
that  she  would  not  be  satisfied  with  a  simple  state- 


198  Souls  of  Passage 

ment  of  his  strait;  she  would  inquire,  and  argue, 
and  suppose,  and  advise,  and  talk  over  the  matter, 
until,  somehow  or  other,  it  would  permeate  the 
whole  house. 

Well,  then,  there  was  Jessie.  Jessie  always  had 
money.  She  had  received  from  her  father  at  least 
two  extraordinary  supplies,  and  he  had  no  doubt 
that  she  could  easily  let  him  have  the  amount — if 
she  would.  So,  soon  after  breakfast,  he  sought 
his  sister.  She  was  in  one  of  the  upper  chambers 
used  as  a  guest  room,  and  there  were  fourteen 
large  trunks  around  her.  In  these  she  was  pack 
ing  her  fine  napery,  her  bridal  presents,  and  her 
new  clothing,  making  a  careful  inventory  of  the 
contents  of  each  trunk  as  her  orderly  hands  filled 
them.  As  Alan  entered  she  looked  up  from  her 
list  of  damask  table  napkins  and  asked  fretfully : 

"What  do  you  want,  Alan?"  laying  that  special 
stress  on  the  word  'do'  which  fully  indicated  her 
annoyance  at  being  disturbed  in  work  so  congenial 
and  important. 

"Give  me  a  few  minutes,  Jessie.  I  want  to  ask 
you  a  favor." 

"Now,  Alan,  if  you  want  any  more  invitations 
to  my  marriage,  I  tell  you  that  I  cannot  give  them. 
James  says,  very  truly,  that  it  is  no  one's  affair 
but  our  own." 

"It  is  not  that,  Jessie.  I  want  you  to  lend  me 
two  hundred  pounds." 


Like  as  a  Father  Pitieth  his  Children   1 99 

"Two  hundred  pounds!  You  must  be  crazy, 
Alan!" 

"I  know  you  have  the  money,  Jessie.  Lend  it 
to  me;  I  am  in  a  great  strait." 

"But  why  should  I  lend  it  because  you  are  in  a 
great  strait  ?  A  hundred,  a  thousand  people  might 
say  that." 

"You  have  only  one  brother." 

"And  I  think  he  is  a  very  selfish,  unreasonable 
brother  to  come  to  me  now,  at  this  important  time. 
A  girl  on  the  very  verge  of  matrimony  needs  all 
the  money  she  can  get.  Would  you  like  your  sis 
ter  to  go  empty-handed  into  her  husband's 
house?" 

"Empty-handed!"  and  Alan  waved  his  hand 
over  the  rows  of  trunks  and  piles  of  damask  and 
said,  "You  know  I  shall  have  my  quarter's  allow 
ance  on  the  first  of  October,  and  then  I  shall  re 
pay  you." 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  It  would 
take  the  most  of  it ;  and  I  am  very  sure  you  have 
already  made  other  promises  for  the  same  time. 
Why  can  you  not  put  off  till  the  first  of  October 
whoever  is  now  pressing  you?" 

"I  can't,  and  that  is  all  about  it." 

"Who  is  this  pressing  creditor?" 

"Shaw  McDuff — the  insolent — " 

"No  bad  names,  Alan !  You  have  been  warned 
not  to  trust  him  often.  He  is  asked  to  my  wed- 


2OO  Souls  of  Passage 

ding,  and  I  do  hope  you  will  have  no  quarrel  with 
him." 

"He  is  a—" 

"He  is  a  very  proper  young  man.  James 
thought  highly  of  him." 

"Jessie,  dear  Jessie,  lend  me  the  money ;  it  will 
save  father,  as  well  as  myself,  a  lot  of  trouble." 

"I  think  this  is  shameful,  Alan,  bringing  your 
anxieties  and  wants  to  me  at  this  time,  and  trying 
to  frighten  me,  too,  about  father;"  and  then  she 
began  to  whimper  a  little,  and  Alan  banged  the 
door,  and  left  her  to  continue  counting  her  nap 
kins  and  tablecloths  in  peace. 

He  felt  almost  distracted.  There  seemed  now 
to  be  no  other  way  but  to  throw  himself  on  Shaw's 
mercy;  and  he  went  down  to  the  village  to  seek 
him.  As  he  approached  it,  he  saw  a  crowd  of 
men,  among  whom  Shaw  appeared  to  have  the 
authority,  going  toward  the  harbor.  The  pier 
had  been  damaged  by  the  storm,  and  Shaw  was 
dictating  what  repairs  ought  to  be  made,  and 
otherwise  exhibiting  himself  as  a  man  to  give 
orders  and  have  them  obeyed.  He  saw  Alan  some 
time  before  he  condescended  to  notice  him,  for 
he  knew  by  his  face  and  carriage  that  he  was  com 
ing  not  to  pay  money,  but  to  ask  a  favor ;  and  it 
was  with  an  air  of  preoccupation  and  annoyance 
that  he  at  last  granted  Alan's  request  for  a  few 
minutes'  conversation. 


Like  as  a  Father  Pitieth  his  Children  201 

"We  have  had  quite  a  misfortune,"  he  said, 
with  an  expression  of  worry;  "the  pier  is  much 
damaged.  It  will  take  two  or  three  hundred 
pounds  to  repair  it;  and  the  village  looks  to  the 
McDuffs  for  everything.  Did  you  find  Seaford 
at  Forfar  Lodge  ?" 

"Yes,  but  he  could  not  pay  me.  Indeed,  he  was 
offended  at  my  request  for  payment  at  a  time 
when,  he  said,  I  knew  gentlemen  had  no  leisure 
to  think  of  anything  but  sport." 

"If  he  owes  you  money  he  ought  to  have  found 
leisure  to  pay  it.  He  is  a  gentleman,  and  I  think 
would  have  done  so." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  I  am  telling  you  a  man 
owes  me  money  when  he  does  not  owe  it  ?  Here 
is  Seaford's  last  letter;  read  it." 

"No ;  I  will  take  your  word,  of  course.  But  I 
say  Seaford's  behavior  is  dishonorable.  Gentle 
men  pay  their  debts.  I  never  owe  a  penny  beyond 
its  due  time." 

"Well,  Shaw,  you  are  a  phenomenal  character 
in  that  way.  I  asked  my  sister  this  morning  to 
loan  me  the  money,  and  she  would  not." 

"I  have  no  doubt  she  was  quite  justified  in  her 
refusal.  She  is  marrying  a  poor  man  also ;  but  if 
your  sister  cannot  trust  you,  why  should  you  ex 
pect  me  to  do  so  ?" 

"Well,  Shaw,  there  are  good  reasons  for  ex 
pecting  it.  I  have  heard  at  Forfar's  that  you 


2O2  Souls  of  Passage 

bought  the  Lapwing  from  Lord  Reay  for  four 
hundred  pounds,  and  I  have  already  paid  you  six 
hundred.  I  think  you  might  wait  until  the  first 
of  October  for  the  other  two  hundred.  You  know, 
also,  that  the  boat  has  gone  to  the  bottom,  the — " 

"That  by  visitation  of  God;  and  no  wonder, 
with  such  a  rascal  as  Earne  Macrae  on  board  her. 
It  was  worth  losing  the  boat  to  lose  the  man." 

"Shaw,  I  wish  both  you  and  myself  were  wor 
thy  to  be  named  with  Earne  Macrae.  He  was  the 
finest  gentleman  I  ever  knew,  and  as  he  may  now 
be  in  the  very  presence  of  God,  I  would  fear  to 
slander  him  if  I  were  you." 

"Your  remarks  are  insulting ;  and  if  it  was  not 
for  the  respect  I  have  for  other  members  of  your 
family  I  would — " 

"No  threats,  Shaw  McDuff !  Two  can  play  at 
that  game;  and  if  I  make  a  threat  I  am  apt  to 
make  it  good." 

"Make  your  promise  to  pay  me  good ;  that  is  as 
much  as  I  expect  from  you.  If  you  cannot  do  so, 
I  will  come  up  to  Dunbrack  to-morrow  and  ask 
Provost  Mackenzie  for  the  money.  As  to  what  I 
paid  for  the  Lapwing  that  is  none  of  your  busi 
ness.  But  I  will  tell  you  how  you  may  extend 
your  credit  with  me  until  October." 

"Well,  then,  how?" 

"If  you  will  promise  me  during  the  interval  not 


Like  as  a  Father  Pitieth  his  Children   203 

to  speak  to  Miss  Macrae,  or  to  take  the  least 
notice  of  her  in  any  respect,  I  will  promise  you  not 
to  ask  for  my  money  until  the  seventh  of  Octo 
ber." 

"What  have  I  ever  done  or  said  that  could  lead 
you  to  think  me  the  unspeakable  scoundrel  your 
proposal  intimates?  I  promise  you  that  I  will 
speak  to  Miss  Macrae  whenever  and  wherever  I 
have  an  opportunity  to  do  so.  I  am  going  to  see 
her  now." 

"Then  I  shall  see  your  father  early  to-morrow 
— perhaps  to-night — if  I  find  time  to  leave  my 
duties  in  the  village.  It  is  my  opinion  the  provost 
will  be  very  much  astonished,  if  not  very  angry,  at 
the  note  I  hold  against  Robert  Mackenzie  and 
Company.  Yes,  sir!  It  is  my  opinion  that  this 
note  is  one  of  false  pretences.  I  am  doubting  ab 
solutely  your  interest  in  the  company — " 

Then  Alan,  laughing  scornfully  in  his  enemy's 
face,  turned  on  his  heel,  and  went  without  any 
hesitation  straight  to  Macrae's  house.  He  went 
there  to  anger  Shaw.  He  knew  that  Macrae  and 
his  father  had  gone  to  a  point  some  miles  up  the 
coast,  where  it  was  thought  the  tide  would  cast  up 
Earne's  body.  And  he  was  not  particularly  wish 
ful  to  see  Fame  at  that  time ;  at  least,  not  until  she 
came  with  love-lit  eyes  and  sorrowful  face  to  meet 
him,  and  grieve  with  him,  over  the  loss  of  Earne 


204  Souls  of  Passage 

and  the  boat.  Then  the  temptation  to  linger  be 
side  her  was  very  great ;  yet,  much  to  Fame's  as 
tonishment,  he  did  not  remain  with  her  many 
minutes ;  he  said  he  had  some  very  important  busi 
ness  to  attend  to,  and  the  girl  felt  his  anxiety  and 
worry,  and  knew  that  he  had  told  her  the  truth. 

When  he  reached  Dunbrack  he  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  to  leave  a  letter  for  his  father,  and  go 
himself  to  Glasgow,  and  so  let  the  storm  break  in 
his  absence ;  for  he  knew,  being  absent,  his  mother, 
perhaps  even  Jessie  and  Flora,  would  make  all 
possible  excuses  for  him.  Jessie,  indeed,  would 
not  like  a  family  disruption  at  the  time  of  her  mar 
riage  ;  and  therefore  he  could  safely  count  on  her 
influence. 

But  he  was  a  thoroughly  wretched  man,  and  his 
miserable  face  and  restless,  desponding  attitude 
were  quickly  noticed  by  Flora.  She  laid  down  her 
book  and  went  to  meet  him.  Her  loveliness,  her 
sympathy,  her  sweet  confidence,  brought  tears  to 
his  eyes,  and  he  tried  to  force  the  smile  with  which 
he  always  met  her.  But  he  could  not,  and  Flora 
saw  it. 

"My  dear  Alan,"  she  said,  "how  unhappy  you 
are!  I  saw  at  breakfast  that  you  could  hardly 
swallow.  Alan,  dear,  what  is  it?  Not  your 
boat?" 

"No." 

"Nor  Earne?" 


Like  as  a  Father  Pitieth  his  Children  205 

"No.     It  is  well  with  Earne." 

"Is  it  money?" 

"Yes." 

"And  Shaw  McDuff?" 

"Yes." 

"I  thought  so.  Now,  love,  having  told  me  this 
much,  I  expect  you,  I  beg  you,  to  tell  me  all — 
everything.  Perhaps  I  can  help  you." 

"You  will  blame  me  too  much;  and,  oh,  Flora, 
how  can  I  bear  that?" 

"I  will  not  blame  you." 

"You  will  cast  me  off!" 

"I  will  draw  you  closer  to  me.  I  love  you, 
Alan,  not  because  I  ever  thought  you  without 
faults ;  I  love  you  faults  and  all.  I  have  plenty  of 
faults  also — bad  temper  and  what  not.  Let  me 
share  your  anxiety,  whatever  it  is.  You  say  it  is 
money  and  Shaw  McDuff;  any  evil  thing  could 
come  from  money  and  Shaw  McDuff." 

"Well,  Flora,  you  know  that  I  bought  the  Lap 
wing  for  eight  hundred  pounds;  and  I  showed 
you  the  generous,  affectionate  letter  which  father 
wrote  me  at  the  time.  He  thought  that  I  paid 
Shaw  the  whole  sum.  I  did  not." 

"Why  not,  dear?" 

"I  owed  in  Glasgow  a  bill  of  two  hundred 
pounds,  and  it  was  likely  to  give  me  trouble — the 
man  needed  the  money.  So  I  paid  Shaw  six  hun 
dred  pounds,  and  promised  the  balance  on  the  fif- 


206  Souls  of  Passage 

teenth  of  August.  I  expected  before  that  time  to 
receive  a  large  sum  I  loaned  Harry  Seaford  last 
April.  But  Seaford  did  not  pay  me,  and  Shaw 
said  I  was  not  to  worry  about  it;  that  if  I  paid 
him  before  we  left  Dunbrack  it  was  all  he  desired. 
So  I  took  no  care  on  the  matter  until  he  suddenly, 
two  days  ago,  demanded  his  money  with  a  threat 
to  ask  father  for  it." 

"And  is  that  threat  so  very  terrible?" 

"It  is  far  more  terrible  than  you  think.  In  the 
first  place,  I  promised  father  never  to  loan  money 
again,  either  in  the  way  of  friendship  or  business. 
I  made  him  a  positive  promise  on  this  subject,  and 
then  in  a  moment  of  foolish  pride — just  to  show 
Seaford  I  could  loan  three  hundred  pounds — I 
parted  with  my  whole  quarter's  allowance,  ruined 
my  credit,  got  myself  lots  of  annoyance  and 
worry,  and  gained  nothing  but  an  invitation  to 
lunch  with  Seaford  at  his  club." 

"Then,  it  was  to  try  and  get  this  money  you 
went  to  Forfar  ?" 

"Yes;  and  Seaford  treated  me  insolently; 
somehow,  he  made  me  feel  as  if  I  was  a  consum 
mate  cad  in  asking  for  it.  I  never  had  a  more 
painful  social  experience.  But  I  deserved  it  for 
breaking  my  promise  to  father.  All  he  said  to  me 
about  the  folly  and  misery  of  lending  money  has 
come  true." 


Like  as  a  Father  Pitieth  his  Children   207 

"Well,  Alan,  the  case  is,  of  course,  bad  enough ; 
but  I  am  sure  it  is  not  beyond  your  father's  help 
and  forgiveness.  Go  to  him  at  once  and  do  not 
make  yourself  ill  over  what  can  be  remedied." 

"If  I  could  get  the  money  from  any  one  else  I 
would  far  rather  do  so.  I  cannot  bear  to  shadow 
father's  last  days  of  rest.  He  has  been  so 
happy  here,  I  cannot  tell  him  of  my  unfaithful 
ness.  I  asked  Jessie  to  let  me  have  two  hundred 
pounds  until  the  first  of  October,  but  she  would 
not." 

"How  could  she  refuse  you!  I  know  she  has 
the  money.  If  I  had  it,  I  should  be  the  happiest 
girl  in  the  world  to  let  you  use  it  for  so  kind  and 
thoughtful  a  purpose;  but  I  have  only  seventy- 
five  pounds  a  quarter,  and  I  spent  nearly  every 
pound  of  my  last  allowance  in  buying  wedding 
presents  for  Jessie.  But  I  do  not  think  uncle  will 
be  very  hard  on  you." 

"Oh,  Flora,  I  have  the  worst  part  to  tell  you.  I 
gave  Shaw  a  note  on  Robert  Mackenzie  and  Com 
pany,  and  that  is  a  thing  I  ought  not  to  have  done 
— a  thing  which  I  solemnly  promised  father  I 
never,  never  would  do  again." 

"You  had  done  it  before?" 

"Once." 

"And  it  is  a  wrong  thing  to  do  ?" 

"Yes,  a — a — a  dishonorable  thing." 


208  Souls  of  Passage 

"I  see.  You  have  no  money  in  Robert  Mac 
kenzie  and  Company's  business?" 

"Not  a  penny." 

"You  drew  a  bill,  then,  on  your  father's  love, 
and  not  on  your  own  resources?" 

"That  is  what  I  did." 

"Why  did  you  do  it?" 

"Foolish  pride  again,  Flora.  I  wanted  Shaw  to 
think  I  did  have  an  interest  in  my  father's  business 
— that  I  was  the  'company'  of  the  concern.  He 
thought  so  at  the  time,  but  this  morning  he 
taunted  me  with  the  circumstance,  and  really  ac 
cused  me  of  giving  a  note  under  false  pretences." 

"What  did  you  answer?"  • 

"Not  a  word.     I  left  him." 

"I  am  glad  of  that.  Alan,  let  me  go  and  tell 
your  father.  It  will  be  hard  for  you  to  make  such 
a  confession,  and  I  can  say  more  for  you  than  you 
dare  to  say  for  yourself.  I  have  no  fear  of  Uncle 
Robert.  I  cannot  lend  you  the  money,  but  I  am 
sure  I  can  put  this  wretched  affair  all  right.  May 
I  try?" 

"I  am  so  miserable !  I  am  so  utterly  miserable ! 
so  ashamed  of  myself!  Oh,  Flora,  if  you  could 
only  feel  for  one  moment  the  agony  this  confes 
sion  causes  me — the  agony  I  have  felt  for  two 
long  dreadful  days  and  nights !" 

"My  dear  Alan,  if  you  are  between  two  evils,  it 
is  wise  and  right  to  choose  the  least.  Is  it  not  bet- 


Like  as  a  Father  Pitieth  his  Children   209 

ter  to  trust  your  father's  love  than  ask  Shaw  Mc- 
Duff  for  his  scornful  pity  or  forbearance  ?  He  will 
constantly  make  you  feel  your  position.  Go  to 
your  father  and  you  may  laugh  at  your  enemy. 
Or,  may  I  go  for  you?  Let  me  go." 

After  much  persuasion  Alan  agreed  to  trust  the 
wretched  business  to  Flora's  intercession,  and  they 
sat  and  talked  over  the  circumstance  in  every  pos 
sible  light  until  summoned  to  lunch.  Mackenzie 
had  not  returned,  and  Alan's  and  Flora's  anxiety 
lest  Shaw  should  interview  him  before  matters 
could  be  explained  was  so  great  that  neither  of 
them  could  eat.  In  fact,  Alan  looked  so  ill  that 
Mrs.  Mackenzie  was  alarmed  and  sure  that  he  was 
on  the  verge  of  a  serious  sickness.  Jessie  under 
stood  the  reason  of  his  pallor  and  loss  of  appetite, 
but  she  kept  her  own  counsel.  She  was  sorry  for 
her  brother,  but  she  knew  that  he  generally  found 
a  way  out  of  his  financial  troubles,  and  she  was 
certain  it  was  only  one  of  Alan's  chronic  embar 
rassments.  It  was  too  near  her  wedding  to  sanc 
tion  or  induce  family  differences,  and  she  made 
Alan  understand  that  he  had  nothing  to  fear  from 
her  speaking  of  his  money  perplexities. 

He  was  not  grateful  for  this  assurance,  and 
with  some  offence  Jessie  told  him  so;  but  the 
young  man  was  indifferent ;  his  anxiety  swallowed 
up  all  other  feelings.  The  one  cry  in  his  heart 
was,  "Oh,  God,  that  it  were  possible  to  undo 


2io  Souls  of  Passage 

things  done!"  And  it  did  not  at  this  hour  com 
fort  him  to  remember  the  great  saying  that  Flora 
had  urged  upon  him  as  full  compensation  for  his 
failure  to  hide  his  fault,  "Woe  unto  those  whose 
sins  are  successful!"  He  thought  really  it  would 
have  been  better  if,  this  time,  at  any  rate,  his  sin 
had  been  successfully  carried  through. 

And  as  trouble  is  great  or  little  by  comparison, 
he  felt  that  if  he  could  only  know  surely  that  his 
father  had  returned  home  unaware  of  his  wrong 
doing — if  Flora  or  himself  might  be  the  one  to 
confess  it — the  shame  and  sorrow  would  be  more 
bearable.  The  very  idea  of  Shaw  presenting  the 
note  to  his  father  made  him  heart-sick.  How 
could  he  bear  it  ?  All  the  energy  of  his  hopes  and 
despair  and  passionate  longing  was  set  to  this  one 
desire — that  no  stranger  might  become  his  ac 
cuser,  and  of  all  strangers  not  Shaw!  Oh,  not 
Shaw!  He  thought  he  could  endure  any  other 
form  this  evil  might  take. 

After  three  hours  of  such  misery  as  turns  the 
hair  gray,  Flora  came  to  tell  him  that  the  provost 
had  returned  home.  He  could  not  form  the  ques 
tion  which  his  eyes  asked  her,  and  she  made  haste 
to  add :  "I  am  sure  he  has  not  seen  Shaw.  He  is 
troubled  about  Earne;  they  have  not  found  his 
body.  As  soon  as  he  has  eaten  let  me  speak  to 
him,  Alan.  He  will  go  into  the  garden  with  his 
cigar,  and  I  will  follow  him." 


Like  as  a  Father  Pitieth  his  Children   211 

He  nodded  sadly  and  cast  down  his  eyes,  and 
she  understood  that  it  was  best  to  leave  him  alone. 
The  misery  he  was  suffering  was  salutary ;  she  did 
not  wish  to  make  it  less,  but  if  it  could  be  short 
ened,  how  glad  she  would  be !  And  at  this  hour 
she  never  once  asked  herself  what  effect  the  dis 
covery  of  her  lover's  moral  weakness  would  have 
on  her  affection  for  him.  She  loved  Alan,  she  saw 
him  suffering,  and  the  only  idea  that  possessed  her 
was  to  obtain  some  relief  for  his  suffering  as 
quickly  as  possible. 

Every  moment  that  the  provost  sat  leisurely  eat 
ing  and  talking  of  poor  Earne  and  Macrae  seemed 
interminable  to  her.  Never  before  had  he  so  loi 
tered  and  lingered  over  a  dinner  plate ;  and  if  Shaw 
should  come  while  he  was  sitting  there !  The  con 
tingency  made  her  quiver.  She  could  have  cried 
out  aloud  against  it.  The  lighting  of  the  provost's 
cigar  and  his  aimless  saunter  about  the  dining- 
room,  talking  of  the  storm  and  its  ravages,  was 
the  acme  of  the  unconscious  man's  unreasonable 
ness  to  poor  Flora's  excited  feelings.  Never  be 
fore  had  he  been  so  slow  and  loitering.  She  could 
finally  endure  the  delay  no  longer,  for  she  heard 
some  movement  of  horse's  feet  in  the  courtyard. 
It  might  be  Shaw ! 

"Dear  Uncle  Robert,"  she  said,  "do  come  into 
the  garden  to  smoke.  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  I 
have  something  very  particular  to  say." 


212  Souls  of  Passage 

"I  am  a  little  tired  to-day,  Flora,"  he  answered, 
"but  I  cannot  refuse  my  little  lassie's  request,  par 
ticularly  as  she  hardly  ever  asks  me  to  do  anything 
to  pleasure  her.  I  will  come,  dear ;  certainly  I  will 
come."  He  was  putting  on  his  cap  as  he  said 
these  words,  and  the  next  moment  they  were 
walking  down  the  broad-flagged  avenue  that  led 
among  the  boxwood  to  the  hazel  lane.  She  took 
him  in  this  direction  purposely;  she  wished  Alan 
to  see  that,  so  far  at  least,  Shaw  had  not  inter 
fered  with  his  right  to  confession. 

"What  is  it,  my  dear,  you  wish  to  say  to  me?" 
asked  the  provost.  "There  is  to  be  a  wedding ;  is 
it  money  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  uncle.  It  is  something  much  more 
precious  than  money;  it  is  love  I  want;  love  so 
noble,  so  heavenly,  that  it  must  come  from  God's 
heart  straight  into  your  heart;  and  I  think  it  is 
already  there — already  waiting  for  the  one  who 
wants  it." 

The  provost  partly  understood  at  once.  A  feel 
ing  of  mingled  anger  and  sadness  assailed  him 
even  before  he  could  conjecture  a  cause  for  it.  He 
looked  down  into  the  lovely,  anxious  face  at  his 
side,  and  asked  almost  in  a  whisper : 

"Is  it  Alan?" 

"Yes,  sir.  He  is  breaking  his  heart  for  having 
disobeyed  you.  I  cannot  bear  to  see  his  misery — 
for  I  love  him.  I  love  him  dearly." 


Like  as  a  Father  Pitieth  his  Children   2 1  3 

"He  is  not  worthy  of  such  love,  I  fear." 

"Which  of  us  is  worthy  of  love?" 

"Tell  me  all,  Flora.  Hide  nothing.  Let  me 
know  the  worst." 

And  Flora  obeyed  the  request.  She  told  the 
story  with  bitter  tears,  with  sweet  little  pleas  and 
apologies,  with  a  final  reminder  that  Alan  was 
here  for  a  purchase,  and  that  she  longed  to  help 
him  "buy  the  truth"  he  had  been  sent  to  buy.  "He 
is  paying  tears  and  heart-sorrow  at  this  moment," 
she  added;  "but  that  is  not  enough;  we  must 
throw  love  into  the  balance." 

As  she  spoke  the  provost  leaned  against  a  large 
birch  -tree  and  threw  his  cigar  away.  Every  force 
in  his  nature  was  needed  for  the  struggle  within 
him.  And  sweet,  and  clear,  and  not  to  be  mis 
understood  three  lines  he  had  read — he  knew  not 
where — went  singing,  singing,  singing  through 
his  soul : 

"Through  sins  of  sense,  perversities  of  will, 
Through  doubt  and  pain,  through  guilt  and  shame  and  ill, 
Thy  pitying  Eye  is  on  thy  creature  still." 

And  as  Flora  stood  silently  watching,  and  he 
stood  silently  listening,  there  came  to  him  that  one 
wondrous  glance  of  God,  that  touch  of  His  pitying 
love,  that  so  enlarges  the  human  heart  that  it  can 
deny  all,  and  part  with  all,  so  that  it  may  do  the 
will  of  the  Father  in  heaven.  And  he  said  softly 


214  Souls  of  Passage 

to  Flora,  "Where  is  Alan,  my  dear?"  and  she 
answered,  "He  is  in  the  large  parlor;"  and  he 
said  then,  "Come,  let  us  go  to  him." 

They  went  back  to  the  house  without  a  word 
more,  and  Flora  gently  opened  the  door  of  the 
room  in  which  Alan  was  waiting  the  result  of  her 
intercession.  And  the  young  man  was  in  a  deep 
sleep.  Exhausted  by  mental  suffering,  he  had 
thrown  himself  on  the  sofa,  and  his  angel  had 
understood  that  "it  was  enough,"  and  had  given 
unto  him  the  most  refreshing  cup  that  mortality 
can  drink  of.  They  watched  him  a  few  moments 
and  then  Flora  went  away ;  she  wished  every  one 
to  know  that  Alan  was  asleep  and  must  not  be 
awakened;  and  thus  she  provided  the  privacy 
necessary  for  the  meeting  between  father  and  son. 

The  handsome  face  of  Alan  was  calm  as  that  of 
a  sleeping  babe,  and  only  his  pallor  and  deep  un 
consciousness  told  of  the  terrible  strain  through 
which  he  had  passed.  And  his  father  sat  motion 
less  watching  him,  his  heart  full  of  that  love  which 
God  calls  "the  fulfilling  of  the  law."  Then 
thoughts  beyond  his  own  thoughts  were  given 
him,  and  he  comprehended  the  divine  justice — 
that  large,  benignant  justice  which,  seeing  all  and 
understanding  all,  excuses,  acquits,  and  pardons 
without  anger  and  without  reproach. 

In  about  half  an  hour  Alan  awoke ;  wide  awake, 
as  one  who  suddenly  recalls  something  important. 


Like  as  a  Father  Pitieth  his  Children   2 1 5 

And  his  father  stood  up  and  looked  at  him.  Then 
a  single  word  bridged  the  space  between  them : 

"Father!" 

The  next  moment  the  provost  had  seated  him 
self  by  his  erring  son ;  and  words  not  to  be  inter 
preted,  tears  that  angels  witnessed,  explained  all 
and  forgave  all.  It  was  the  experience  of  a  mo 
ment,  as  all  such  experiences — if  they  be  vital  and 
soulful — must  be.  For  between  the  sinner  and  the 
one  sinned  against  there  is  a  great  gulf  which 
must  be  passed  at  a  bound,  if  it  is  to  be  passed  at 
all.  No  explanations  come  before  such  God-like 
pardon ;  love  forgives  all  before  it  knows  all ;  it  re 
stores  to  favor  before  it  asks  for  submission. 

Alan's  head  was  on  his  father's  shoulder,  his 
hand  in  his  father's  hand,  as  he  told  frankly  and 
without  reserve  the  faults  which  disobedience  and 
vanity  had  led  him  into.  And  the  provost  under 
stood  how  easily  the  entanglement  had  come;  he 
divined  the  man  Seaford,  and  how  he  had  played 
upon  his  son's  youthful  egotisms  and  social  aspira 
tions.  He  read  as  in  a  book  the  selfish  cunning  of 
Shaw  McDuff  in  flattering  Alan  into  a  disgrace 
ful  contract,  and  then  wounding  and  insulting  him 
in  every  way  that  his  envy  and  jealousy  could 
dictate.  He  let  Alan  empty  his  heart  of  all  its  sor 
row  and  shame,  and  then  said : 

"You  must  keep  a  sturdy  porter  before  the  door 
of  your  life,  Alan,  in  the  future — one  that  will  not 


2i 6  Souls  of  Passage 

open  to  every  comer.  I  thought  you  would  learn 
up  here  how  much  grander  and  sweeter  is  nature's 
companionship  than  the  restless,  feverish  contact 
of  cities  and  mankind.  I  see  that  I  have  been 
wrong.  I  know  now  that  you  are  here  to  fight  the 
battle  of  life  and  not  to  shirk  it.  But  even  your 
humiliating  experience  has  its  lesson ;  learn  from 
it  that  in  certain  cases  money  demoralizes  even 
the  giver  or  the  lender.  Both  you  and  Seaford  are 
the  worse  for  that  unfortunate  loan,  and  instead 
of  breeding  kindness  it  has  bred  contempt  and  dis 
like.  Now  I  want  you  to  face  the  world,  to  share 
in  the  work  of  the  world,  to  learn  your  weak 
points,  and  grow  strong  in  conquering  them." 

"I  desire  with  all  my  heart  to  do  right,  father, 
but  the  moment  I  am  in  temptation  I  fall." 

"That  is  a  common  experience,  Alan.  The  flesh 
striveth  against  the  spirit;  but  remember,  also, 
that  the  spirit  striveth  against  the  flesh;  and  the 
spirit,  being  in  contact  with  God,  is  far  the  migh 
tier.  You  have,  then,  the  spirit  to  help  all  your  in 
firmities  if  you  ask  for  its  help.  I  am  going  to 
send  you  to  London  to  take  charge  of  the  business 
there.  You  will  consult  with  James  Crawford 
about  the  office,  and  Hill  and  Hislop  will  give  you 
all  the  necessary  legal  counsel.  I  shall  put  honor 
and  credit  in  your  power,  and  expect  you  to  realize 
them.  I  believe  you  will." 

"I  will  try  to  do  so,  father — I  will  indeed !" 


Like  as  a  Father  Pitieth  his  Children   217 

"I  trust  you ;  the  more  so  that  I  see  one  of  the 
sweetest  and  loveliest  of  women  trusts  you  also.  I 
think  it  is  a  good  sign  for  your  future  that  Flora 
is  willing  to  share  it  with  you.  And  I  am  not 
insensible  to  the  restraint  you  have  both  shown  in 
keeping  your  engagement  secret  until  a  fitting 
time  came  for  its  disclosure.  But  now,  Alan,  you 
must  earn  the  right  to  Flora's  esteem  before  you 
ask  for  her  public  avowal  of  it.  Tell  her  what  I 
propose,  and  promise  her  to  come  in  one  year  with 
an  honorable,  untarnished  record  and  ask  for  her 
hand." 

"My  good  father !  I  will  do  all  you  advise." 
"Now,  my  dear  son,  'die  that  you  may  be  born.' 
This  is  the  great  secret,  Alan,  of  the  soul's  pas 
sage  through  earth  life.  Or,  as  the  Divine  One 
said,  'Let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead.'  As  far  as 
I  am  concerned,  this  past  of  yours  is  buried. 
Smile  and  be  happy.  When  Shaw  McDuff  comes 
to  make  trouble  he  will  find  his  occupation  gone. 
All  you  have  to  do  is  to 

"  'Stand  up  in  virtue  of  holy  pain, 
And  guard  you  well  from  guilt  again.'  " 

Then  they  went  out  of  the  parlor  together,  and 
Flora,  watching  anxiously  for  the  result  of  the 
meeting,  saw  them  pass  through  the  hall,  their 
faces  calm  and  happy,  and  the  father's  arm  thrown 
affectionately  across  his  son's  shoulder.  How  de- 


2i 8  Souls  of  Passage 

lighted  she  was !  She  had  been  walking  anxiously 
about  the  upper  corridor,  and  at  every  movement 
looking  over  the  balusters  to  see  if  there  was  a 
sign  of  reconciliation.  And  when  her  hope  was 
realized,  and  the  two  men  so  lovingly  linked 
passed  under  her  vision,  she  fled  to  her  room  smil 
ing,  and  sat  down  to  let  the  clouds  of  care  and  fear 
blow  off  her  soul. 

"It  is  all  right,  dear,"  she  said  to  her  favorite 
picture.  "It  is  all  love,  dear ;  and  I  think  I  know 
how  the  angels  feel  when  they  have  made  happi 
ness.  Blessed  are  the  peacemakers,  for  they  shall 
be  called  the  children  of  God.  Is  not  that  a  won 
derful  thing,  Lady  Sara  ?  Were  you  ever  a  peace 
maker?  My  poor  dear,  you  lived  in  times  of 
hatred  and  war,  how  could  you  know  the  joy  that 
I  now  feel?" 

In  a  little  while  she  began  to  dress  herself  beau 
tifully  for  the  evening  meal.  She  wished  Alan  to 
see  that  she  thought  him  well  worth  her  waving 
hair  and  prettiest  blue  silk  robe,  with  its  soft  lace 
and  pale  ribbons.  And  she  brought  from  her  room 
a  joyous  temper  so  catching  that  even  Jessie,  wor 
ried  and  wearied  with  her  day's  work  and  her  in 
abilities,  felt  its  influence  and  said  cheerfully : 

"How  lovely  you  are  to-night,  Flora!  You 
look  so  joyous;  what  good  thing  has  come  to 
you?" 

"I  am  joyous,"  she  answered ;  but  neither  of  the 


Like  as  a  Father  Pitieth  his  Children  219 

two  women  understood  yet  that  the  springs  of 
outward  joy  lie  deep  within;  that  only  strong 
hearts  are  joyous  hearts,  nimble,  sure  of  them 
selves  through  all  trials;  gay,  smiling  with  im 
mortality. 

Alan  also  had  dressed  himself  with  unusual 
care.  He  had  never  under  any  circumstances 
looked  handsomer.  And  when  Flora  entered  the 
room  he  was  there  to  meet  her ;  to  say  with  love's 
sweet  glances  and  kisses  what  words  could  not 
stumble  over.  He  told  her  he  thought  himself  the 
most  fortunate  of  mortal  men,  and  Flora  said  he 
made  her  the  happiest  of  mortal  women.  Then 
Jessie  and  Mr.  Mackenzie  entered,  and  Jessie, 
feeling  the  bright  atmosphere,  explained  it  to  her 
self  by  the  remark,  "How  lovely  you  are  to-night, 
Flora !"  And  then  Mrs.  Mackenzie  looked  with  a 
careful,  kindly  criticism  at  the  girl  and  asked : 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  lassie  ?  You  are 
the  very  portrait  of  happiness.  You  are  as  gay  as 
a  lark  and  as  fresh  as  a  new-blown  daisy." 

And  ere  the  words  were  finished  in  rushed 
Fame,  the  odor  of  the  forest  and  the  breath  of  the 
sea  all  about  her.  She  had  on  a  bright  scarlet 
gown,  making  her  bewildering  beauty,  her  arch, 
dreamy,  incalculable  nature  remarkably  obvious. 
She  filled  the  room  with  her  magnetic  charm,  so 
that  even  her  father,  who  accompanied  her,  seemed 
to  become  a  part  of  her  personality.  Whence  had 


22O  Souls  of  Passage 

come  this  girl's  spirit  ?  On  its  way  it  had  possessed 
itself  of  singular  traits. 

Mackenzie  was  much  delighted  to  see  his  friend. 
He  put  him  at  his  right  hand,  and  the  dinner  be 
came  a  festival.  But  all  through  it  the  watchful 
father  was  very  mindful  of  his  son.  He  continu 
ally  appealed  to  him;  he  delighted  in  honoring 
and  praising  him;  he  half  offended  Jessie  by  his 
demonstrative  affection.  But  she  said  to  herself, 
"It  is  just  the  Great  Parable  over  again.  Alan  has 
gone  to  his  father — as  I  advised  him  to  do — and 
father  is  killing  the  fatted  calf  about  the  matter. 
I  wish  James  was  here.  I  think  he  would  say  I 
had  done  right." 

Dinner  was  nearly  finished — in  fact,  Alan  and 
Flora  and  Fame  were  cracking  walnuts,  and  many 
a  little  quip  and  joke  with  them — when  Shaw  Mc- 
Duff  entered.  He  had  plenty  of  time  to  notice 
Alan  sitting  between  the  two  girls,  the  three  heads 
almost  touching  in  merry  rivalry  to  obtain  some 
singularly  large  and  peculiarly  formed  nut.  Mrs. 
Mackenzie  and  Jessie  were  making  coffee,  and  the 
provost  and  his  friend  discussing  the  best  kind  of 
boat  for  Hebridean  waters.  Every  one  appeared 
to  be  so  perfectly  happy,  and  yet  without  his  com 
pany,  that  Shaw  was  annoyed  and  offended  by 
this  lack  of  interest,  after  so  many  weeks'  experi 
ence  of  his  social  value.  He  bowed  and  said  he 
had  supposed  dinner  would  have  been  over;  and 


Like  as  a  Father  Pitieth  his  Children   221 

Mrs.  Mackenzie  and  Jessie  made  much  of  him, 
while  Alan  and  the  girls  went  on  with  their  mimic 
struggle,  and  Macrae  looked  steadily  out  of  the 
window  as  if  lost  in  thought.  Then  the  provost 
rose,  saying : 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Mr.  McDuff  ?  I  have 
your  message  about  business." 

"Perhaps,  sir,  if  we  went  into  a  private  room  it 
might  be  better." 

"Not  at  all.  You  cannot  possibly  have  any 
business  with  me  that  my  family  may  not  hear 
and  share." 

"That  is  not  certain.  I  think  that  your  son 
would  prefer  that  our  business  was  private." 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,"  replied  Alan,  looking 
up,  but  still  keeping  Fame's  right  hand,  which  held 
the  disputed  nut.  "Whatever  you  have  to  say  to 
my  father,  Shaw,  you  can  say  right  here  and  right 
now." 

"Oh,  indeed !  You  have  changed  your  opinion 
since  morning ;  then  you  did  not  wish  your  father 
to  know  the  business  I  come  here  about." 

Alan  did  not  answer;  he  resumed  his  contest 
for  the  nut,  and  Fame  passed  it  to  Flora,  and  there 
was  so  much  quiet  mirth  that  Shaw  could  endure 
his  position  no  longer,  and  he  said  bluntly,  taking 
the  note  from  his  pocket : 

"Your  son  is  owing  me  money,  sir — money 
that  ought  to  have  been  paid  on  the  fifteenth 


222  Souls  of  Passage 

of  last  month;  and  I  am  not  trusting  him  any 
longer." 

"But  this  note  is  drawn  on  Robert  Mackenzie 
and  Company." 

"That  is  the  question,  sir.  It  is  drawn,  as  I 
believe,  on — " 

"It  is  drawn  upon  Robert  Mackenzie  and  Com 
pany,  and  should  have  been  presented  for  payment 
at  the  proper  time." 

"Your  son  was  afraid  of  my  presenting  it  to 
you." 

"I  think  not,"  said  the  provost.  "Alan  is  a  little 
extravagant,  but  he  knows  Robert  Mackenzie  and 
Company  will  honor  his  demands.  Sit  down  until 
I  draw  a  check ;  it  will  only  take  me  a  few  minutes. 
Alan  tells  me  it  is  the  balance  on  the  Lapwing. 
Permit  me  to  say  that  one  hundred  per  cent,  profit 
is  not  a  lawful,  let  alone  a  friendly  transaction." 

"Permit  me  to  say,  sir,  that  there  is  nothing  un 
lawful  in  the  transaction,  and  that  it  was  a  busi 
ness  proceeding,  and  not  an  affair  of  friendship." 

Then  the  provost  left  the  room,  and  Macrae 
neither  moved  nor  spoke,  but  Alan  and  the  girls 
continued  their  daffing  in  a  sort  of  subdued,  whis 
pering  manner  particularly  offensive  to  the  jealous 
McDuff;  while  Jessie's  little  civilities  and  Mrs. 
Mackenzie's  offer  of  a  cup  of  coffee  did  not  make 
more  endurable  the  neglect  and  constraint  of  the 
situation.  It  was  the  indifference  that  hurt  Shaw. 


Like  as  a  Father  Pitieth  his  Children  223 

When  Alan  left  the  table  and  threw  himself  into 
the  particularly  delightful  lounging  chair  Shaw 
had  generally  occupied,  and  Flora  and  Fame  sat 
down  on  each  side  of  him,  and  all  the  sweet  famili 
arities  of  their  relationship  were  in  evidence, 
Shaw  hated  the  smiling,  happy,  rather  haughty- 
looking  young  man.  He  was  sure  he  had  told 
some  plausible,  untruthful  version  of  their  busi 
ness  with  each  other ;  and  yet  he  perceived  plainly 
that  Alan's  position  was  unassailable  and  that 
nothing  he  could  say  would  injure  it. 

Fame's  behavior  hurt  him  most  of  all.  She 
looked  that  night,  even  to  his  self-admiring  eyes, 
perfectly  ravishing;  she  provoked  him  with  her 
saucy  oblivion  of  his  presence  and  her  piquant 
advances  toward  Alan;  in  fact,  no  two  girls  ever 
tacitly  and  without  premeditation  so  completely 
carried  out  a  little  drama  for  idealizing  one  lover 
at  the  expense  of  the  other. 

The  provost  was  not  absent  ten  minutes,  but 
it  looked  an  hour  to  every  one  in  the  room  but  the 
three  players  and  Macrae.  Mrs.  Mackenzie  was 
ignorant  of  Shaw's  unkindness  to  Alan,  and  felt 
as  if  she  was  encouraging  some  gross  inhospital- 
ity.  Jessie  was  still  mindful  of  any  vacant  place 
at  her  wedding  breakfast,  and  not  at  all  sure  that 
Shaw  deserved  the  contemptuous  treatment  he 
was  receiving;  and  Macrae,  refuging  himself  in  a 
height  above  Shaw  McDufFs  comprehension,  had 


224  Souls  of  Passage 

forgotten  his  existence.  So  that  it  was  a  relief 
when  the  provost  returned  with  a  slip  of  paper  in 
his  hand  representing  two  hundred  pounds  of  the 
Bank  of  Scotland's  issue. 

"You  will  stay  and  spend  the  evening  with  us, 
Mr.  McDuff,"  said  Mrs.  Mackenzie.  She  had  an 
anxious  desire  to  make  things  more  pleasant ;  and 
Jessie  added  her  share  to  this  motive  by  informing 
Shaw  when  Mr.  Laidlaw  was  coming.  But  all 
such  efforts  fell  unmeaningly  into  the  contradic 
tory  atmosphere.  Besides,  Shaw,  glancing  at 
Alan,  had  met  his  smiling  stare  of  inquiry  and 
Fame's  insolent  look  of  triumphant  scorn ;  and  he 
was  not  inclined  to  fight  single-handed  two  men 
and  two  women  so  inimical  to  him. 

"But  I  have  my  two  hundred  pounds,"  he 
thought,  and  he  made  a  little  demonstration  with 
the  paper  in  answer  to  his  thought ;  and  then,  find 
ing  that  Mackenzie  and  Macrae  had  resumed  their 
conversation  as  if  he  was  not  present,  he  said  in 
that  high-pitched  voice  which  always  interpreted 
his  worst  temper : 

"Provost  Mackenzie,  I  am  feeling  much  obli 
gated  to  you  for  honoring  what  you  had  no 
necessity  to  honor ;  and — " 

"Sir,  I  always  feel  it  both  a  necessity  and  a 
pleasure  to  honor  my  son's  drafts." 

"Drafts — on  your  patience  and  forbearance." 


Like  as  a  Father  Pitieth  his  Children  225 

"On  my  purse.  Go  on,  Macrae,  I  am  hearing 
you — and  I  am  hearing  no  one  but  you." 

Then  Shaw,  turning  to  Alan,  said,  "Your  father 
has  shouldered  your  discredit,  Alan  Mackenzie, 
and  paid  the  money  you  were  owing  me ;  but  there 
is  another  debt  between  us,  and  I  will  have  pay 
ment  from  you  only.  Don't  forget  that !" 

Fame  laughed  disdainfully  at  these  words,  and 
said,  "You  need  not  remember  it  a  moment,  Alan. 
Shaw  McDuff's  threats  break  no  bones."  And  to 
this  contemptuous  assertion  the  young  man  passed 
through  the  door.  He  clanged  it  furiously  behind 
him,  but  did  not  make  noise  enough  to  shut  out 
the  taunting  laugh  of  Fame,  which  rang  in  his 
ears  all  the  way  down  the  mountain,  filling  his 
heart  with  an  intolerable  sense  of  defeat  and  dis 
dain. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

MONEY   AND   MARRIAGE. 

THE  bridegroom  was  coming,  and  Dunbrack 
Castle  put  on  her  festival  air  to  meet  him.  At 
the  last,  Mr.  Laidlaw  had  decided  to  spend  a  few 
days  in  advance  of  the  ceremony  with  the  family, 
and  every  one  was  glad  of  it.  But  the  active 
enmity  of  Shaw  troubled  Jessie  and  Mrs.  Mac 
kenzie;  they  deprecated  any  overt  quarrel  enter 
ing  the  household  at  this  time,  and  Shaw  had 
been  a  favorite  with  the  minister.  Jessie  was 
inclined  to  throw  the  whole  blame  on  Alan,  but 
the  provost  insisted  that  Shaw  himself  was  alone 
to  blame,  and  that,  furthermore,  he  thought 
Shaw  McDuff  undesirable  company  for  either 
young  men  or  young  women. 

"What  you  say  may  be  true  or  not  true," 
answered  Mrs.  Mackenzie,  "but  Shaw  is  not 
a  safe  man  to  quarrel  with — and  that  will  be 
seen  and  heard  tell  of." 

"Buff  and  nonsense!  He  cannot  fire  the 
heather,  my  sheep  crop,  and  Macrae  has  no 


Money  and  Marriage  227 

occasion  to  fear  him;  as  for  the  lassie,  Fame,  she 
can  take  the  best  of  care  of  herself." 

"I  may  be  wrong,  but  I  have  heard  that  the 
McDuffs  hold  a  tight  grip  on  Macrae's  land;  if 
so,  neither  of  the  men  is  liable  to  let  go." 

"Macrae  is  not  fearing  the  McDuffs;  and 
Fame  evidently  has  some  secret  power  over 
them.  She  flites  and  flouts  them  continually, 
and  dares  them  to  take  a  step  against  her  father. 
Forbye,  Macrae  has  sold  me  Deer  Mountain, 
and  he  has  the  money  for  it;  you  need  not  worry 
about  Macrae." 

"Indeed,  Robert,  I  think  I  may  begin  worry 
ing  anent  ourselves.  What  for  are  you  buying 
a  mountain?  Is  there  no  other  foolish  way  to 
fling  good  money  out  of  your  pocket?  I  have 
heard  tell  of  many  ridic'lus  ways  of  spending 
siller,  but  buying  a  mountain  beats  them  all." 

"Marian,  when  you  know  more  you  will  speak 
wiser.  Just  at  this  hour  you  are  in  the  dark,  and 
I  am  not  ready  to  show  you  that  buying  this 
mountain  is  a  fine  investment.  There  will  be 
a  lot  of  money  made  out  of  it;  forbye,  it  lies  sib 
to  Dunbrack,  was  once  part  of  Dunbrack,  and 
is  necessary  to  the  estate  as  a  grazing  ground, 
either  for  sheep  or  game.  I  think  you  may  trust 
me,  Marian;  it  is  not  my  way  to  spend  money 
foolishly." 

"I  can  trust  you  fine,  Robert.     Now  I  must 


228  Souls  of  Passage 

go  to  Jessie;  she  is  like  summer  lightning  this 
morning — all  a-quiver.  It  is  a  God's  mercy  we 
have  only  one  daughter  to  marry." 

"I  am  going  down  to  Macrae's,  and  we  are 
for  the  hills;  but  I  will  be  home  in  time  for 
dinner." 

"Now,  Robert,  don't  you  be  forgetting  that 
promise.  James  is  coming  to-night,  and  he  will 
be  expecting  you  to  welcome  him  on  the  thresh 
old;  and  Jessie  takes  as  personal  any  slight  to 
James." 

The  provost  made  the  promise  again,  and 
then  went  to  his  friend  with  that  willing  step 
which  is  always  rapid  and  cheerful.  The  gray 
old  house  had  taken  on  for  him  a  look  of 
friendliness;  its  door  stood  wide  open,  and  the 
ancient  room  into  which  he  stepped,  though 
steeped  in  the  personality  of  the  family,  seemed 
pleasant  and  familiar  to  him.  He  was  at  home 
in  its  atmosphere  of  long-past  days;  there  was 
a  dream  in  every  faded  chair  for  him,  and  as 
soon  as  he  entered  the  place  he  was  insensibly 
stilled  and  disposed  to  silence  and  reflection. 

But  this  morning  the  house  was  invaded  by  an 
insurgent  and  alien  spirit;  as  soon  as  he  entered 
it  he  heard  Shaw  McDuff  speaking  in  the  tone 
of  a  man  who  demands  or  insists.  Mackenzie 
only  smiled.  He  felt  sure  Macrae  had  the  means 
in  every  respect  to  "best"  his  enemy;  and  Fame's 


Money  and  Marriage  229 

scornful  laughter  was  the  answer  of  a  woman 
defiant  and  sure  of  her  ability  to  defy.  He 
opened  the  door  of  the  inner  room  and  con 
fronted  the  opposing  parties.  Macrae  smiled 
and  nodded.  "Come  in,  friend,"  he  said;  "there 
is  nothing  here  to  hide,  nothing  to  fear,  nothing 
to  be  ashamed  of." 

"I  think  there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  ashamed 
of,"  said  Shaw,  turning  to  Mackenzie.  "For 
two  weeks  I  have  come  here  every  day  to  collect 
money  due  to  my  father.  Of  course,  we  hate 
to  foreclose  a  mortgage  on  an  old  friend  and 
neighbor,  but — " 

"Friend!"  said  Fame  angrily;  "pray,  who 
gave  the  McDuffs  permission  to  call  themselves 
a  'friend'  of  the  Macrae?  Neighbor  you  may  be, 
but  that  is  not  our  fault;  and  as  for  foreclosing 
the  mortgage,  you  would  have  done  that  long 
ago  if  foreclosing  had  been  to  your  interest.  I 
have  told  you  to  bring  the  deed  and  we  would 
lift  the  mortgage.  Do  you  think  I  will  suffer 
my  father  to  pay  you  a  thousand  pounds  without 
delivery  of  the  deed?  I  will  not.  Bring  the 
paper  and  you  shall  have  the  money." 

"That  condition  is  just  and  right,"  said  the 
provost.  "My  friend  has  money  to  lift  the  mort 
gage,  Mr.  McDuff;  suppose  you  go  home  for 
the  paper,  and  I  will  remain  here  and  be  witness 
to  the  payment  of  the  money." 


230  Souls  of  Passage 

"Then  Shaw  turned  to  the  door,  and  Fame 
opened  it  with  a  laugh.  "Go  get  the  deed,"  she 
said,  "and  you  shall  have  your  money  to  the  last 
farthing.  And  then,  thank  God!  we  may  brush 
your  footsteps  forever  from  our  door  stone." 

"You  shall  pay  for  this  impertinence — " 

"You  have  already  a  debt  of  the  same  kind 
against  Alan  Mackenzie.  We  shall  have  to  give 
you  long  credit;  every  one  knows  that  you  are 
indifferent  to  insults,  though  keen  as  a  sleuth 
hound  after  gold.  Very  well,  run  for  the  deed, 
and  you  shall  have  the  money  it  calls  for.  Make 
haste,  Shaw  McDuff;  you  must  have  it  handy 
unless  the  deil  has  run  away  with  it." 

She  spoke  with  such  impetuous  haste  and 
temper  that  her  father's  appealing  "Fame! 
Fame!"  was  quite  lost  in  the  passionate  tide  of 
her  words;  and  Mackenzie  was  not  disposed  to 
interfere  between  the  beautiful,  angry  girl  and 
her  opponent.  And  as  soon  as  Shaw  had  passed 
beyond  the  garden  gate  she  turned  to  the  two 
men  with  a  laugh  that  was  half  a  sob,  exclaim 
ing: 

"There,  I  have  had  my  say!" 

"It  might  have  been  a  dangerous  'say,'  Fame. 
Thank  God !  I  have  now  the  money  to  cancel 
both  debt  and  threat." 

"I  did  not  know  you  had  the  money;  but,  all 
the  same,  you  were  in  no  danger.  I  did  not 


Money  and  Marriage  231 

speak  like  a  foolish  woman;  I  knew  beyond  a 
doubt  that  McDuff  had  lost  all  power  over  you." 

"I  meant  to  tell  you  yesterday  about  the 
money*  Fame,  but  you  were  at  Dunbrack  all 
day,  and  this  morning  Shaw  was  here  as  soon 
as  you  came  from  your  room.  But  how  could 
McDuff  have  lost  all  power  over  me?" 

"Well,  father,  I  have  a  confession  to  make.  I 
told  Shaw  to  go  and  get  the  deed;  he  can  never, 
never  get  that  deed.  It  is  as  far  beyond  him  as 
— well,  as  I  am;"  and  she  looked  steadily  at 
Mackenzie  as  she  made  this  statement,  and 
smiled  with  delight. 

"But  I  do  not  understand  you,  Fame,"  said 
Macrae.  "I  owe  the  money,  and  of  course  I  will 
pay  it." 

"Of  course  you  will  pay  what  you  owe,  dear 
father,  but  I  did  not  know  you  had  the  money, 
and  I  was  not  going  to  have  you  put  out  of 
house  and  home  before  Tom  and  Hector  had 
the  thousand  pounds  here." 

"I  have  been  selling  Deer  Mountain  to  our 
good  friend  Mackenzie.  It  belonged  at  the  first 
to  Dunbrack,  and  the  land  has  only  gone  to  its 
own.  I  am  a  free  man  once  more,  Fame;  and 
it  is  sixteen  years  I  have  been  in  bondage  to  the 
McDuffs.  Now  I  am  in  a  strait  until  the  money 
is  paid;  yet  I  suppose  it  is  right  to  have  the  deed 
I  made  void." 


232  Souls  of  Passage 

"The  paper  is  necessary,  Macrae,"  said  the 
provost. 

"And  the  paper  is  here,"  said  Fame  with  a 
sigh  of  satisfaction.  "I  am  keeping  it  myself; 
and  it  is  a  long  search  and  a  useless  search  Shaw 
will  be  making  for  it;  and  if  he  could  be  finding 
it,  no  good  whatever  to  him." 

"How  did  you  get  the  paper,  Fame?"  asked 
Macrae  anxiously. 

"I  was  not  stealing  it,  father;  it  was  poor 
Earne  that  brought  it  to  me." 

"Then  Earne  was  stealing  it?" 

"Earne  was  finding-it.  I  will  tell  you.  McDuff 
met  Earne  the  day  after  the  trial  about  the  nets 
— Peter  McDuff  himself — and  he  said,  'Earne, 
there  will  be  a  warrant  here  to-night  for  you. 
I  am  going  to  have  Gill  McDufFs  drowning 
looked  into.  I  am  thinking  you  murdered  him,' 
frightening  the  poor  boy,  of  course;  but  Earne 
took  it  for  gospel  truth,  and  he  got  into  the  big 
tree  that  is  by  Peter's  window,  and  watched  the 
old  man.  And  he  saw  him  looking  over  a  long 
paper,  and  was  sure  it  was  the  warrant.  So  he 
waited  until  he  saw  where  Peter  put  it;  then, 
when  he  left  the  room,  it  was  not  troubling 
Earne  in  the  least  to  open  the  drawer  and  get 
the  paper.  He  took  it  to  the  Lapwing  and  took 
the  Lapwing  out  to  sea,  until  he  could  find  out 
what  they  were  going  to  do  with  him;  after 


Money  and  Marriage  233 

which  he  intended  to  give  the  warrant  to  the  fire 
or  the  water." 

"But  no  warrant  was  taken  out  for  Earne  that 
I  know  of,"  said  Macrae. 

"There  was  no  warrant.  The  paper  Earne 
took  was  the  deed  mortgaging  our  house  to 
Peter  McDuff.  Poor  Earne !  He  was  not  long 
in  finding  out  that  the  paper  was  not  befriending 
the  Macrae,  and  he  brought  it  to  me  the  next 
morning,  and  said  it  was  about  the  Macrae's 
house,  and  so  it  was  myself  that  ought  to  be 
taking  care  of  it — at  least,  he  brought  part 
of  it." 

"But,  Fame,  you  ought  to  have  told  me  this 
circumstance  long  ago,"  said  Macrae. 

"As  I  was  saying,  father,  it  was  only  part  of 
the  paper.  Earne  thought  it  would  be  best  and 
safest  to  tear  off  your  name  and  the  McDuff's 
name  and  the  seals.  And  when  I  said,  'Why  did 
you  tear  away  the  names,  Earne?'  he  answered, 
'It  will  be  a  contract  with  the  devil  against  the 
Macrae,  for  those  big  red  seals  are  the  devil's 
seals;  and  I  put  them  in  the  fire;  and  I  put  the 
McDuff's  name  in  the  fire  with  them;  but  the 
Macrae's  name  I  did  not  burn,  I  am  keeping  it 
for  myself.'  And  we  made  a  secret  of  it,  and  I 
promised  Earne  that  I  would  never,  never  tell 
what  he  had  done  to  his  hurt  or  to  the  hurt  of 
the  Macrae;  and  he  trusted  me  and  believed  in 


234  Souls  of  Passage 

me.  And  I  was  glad  of  the  paper,  and  thanked 
him  fifty  times  and  gave  him  my  hand  to  kiss, 
and  he  was  more  happy  than  if  he  had  found  a 
gold  mine.  And  I  was  happy  also;  I  knew  the 
money  would  be  paid  as  soon  as  you  could  sell 
land  or  Hector  send  the  thousand  pounds — 
paper  or  no  paper — and  until  that  day  came  I 
had  Shaw  McDuff  at  my  defiance;  and  ever  since 
I  have  been  thanking  Earne  for  the  comfort  he 
brought  me;  and  if  Earne  had  been  alive  to-day 
fire  could  not  have  burned  this  story  out  of  me. 
No,  indeed !  The  McDuffs  are  seeking  the  paper 
at  this  moment,  no  doubt,  each  one  blaming  the 
other;  the  old  man  snapping  his  fingers  and 
muttering  Gaelic  oaths,  and  Shaw  stamping 
about  in  his  black  rage  and  cursing  in  his  heart, 
as  if  God  was  not  reading  the  heart  and  knowing 
every  word  a  dumb  devil  says  as  well  as  a  railing 
one.  It  is  a  very  pretty  mystery  play,  father;  do 
take  some  pleasure  out  of  it." 

While  they  were  talking  Shaw  returned.  He 
said  the  mortgage  had  been  taken  to  their  law 
yer's  office;  but,  he  added,  "we  are  wanting  the 
money  for  investment  at  once;  and  the  deed  can 
make  little  difference.  The  Macrae  has  been 
trusted  and  obliged  in  various  ways  for  nearly 
twenty  years,  and  now  that  it  is  in  his  power  to 
oblige  us,  we  feel  that  he  ought  to  do  it." 


Money  and  Marriage  235 

"Very  good,  Mr.  McDuff,"  said  the  provost, 
"but  it  is  the  general  practice  to  secure  the  void 
contract  upon  payment  of  the  sum  loaned." 

"If  the  contract  should  be  lost  or  stolen,"  said 
Fame,  "you  will  remember  we  have  offered  you 
the  money.  You  can  have  no  further  claim  for 
interest,  for  the  principal  is  waiting  on  your 
delivery  of  the  proper  paper." 

"Lost  or  stolen!"  exclaimed  Shaw,  with  a 
sudden  apprehension  of  the  truth.  "Ah,  then, 
you  know  it !" 

"I  do  not  tell  all  I  know." 

"If  it  has  been  stolen,  Earne  Macrae  stole  it." 

"Then  it  will  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  And, 
pray,  what  of  your  one  thousand  pounds?" 

"Earne  was  always  a  thief,  and  you — " 

"It  is  to  God  that  you  are  now  accusing 
Earne;  and  God  will  not  be  believing  you.  He 
knew  the  heart  of  the  poor  fisher,  and  He  is 
knowing  your  heart,  too,  Shaw  McDuff — think 
of  that  and  keep  still  about  Earne  Macrae." 

Shaw  turned  from  her  with  an  impatient  ges 
ture.  "Macrae,"  he  said,  "you  have  the  money 
now,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not 
oblige  my  father  by  paying  it.  If  you  can't 
trust  my  father's  word  and  hand,  you  have  your 
friend  Mackenzie  here;  he  can  witness  the  trans 
action." 


236  Souls  of  Passage 

"Patience,  Shaw !    I  will  pay  your  father." 

"I  am  not  believing  you  have  any  money, 
Macrae,"  Shaw  answered  scornfully.  "You  are 
as  poor  as  poverty — you  have  no  money!" 

"I  have  five  thousand  pounds  in  the  Bank  of 
Scotland.  I  am  sorry  you  are  not  believing  me; 
and  if  I  were  as  poor  as  poverty,  I  am  still  a 
Highland  gentleman." 

"If  you  have  five  thousand  pounds  and  are 
a  Highland  gentleman,  pay  the  one  thousand 
pounds  you  owe  the  McDuffs.  I  am  not  believ 
ing  you  own  a  penny  piece!  You  are  poor  as 
poverty !" 

"Shaw,  you  cannot  play  either  upon  my  pride 
or  my  temper.  I  will  not  pay  you  money  because 
you  taunt  me.  This  is  my  house,  allow  me  to 
have  peace  in  it." 

"It  is  just  as  likely  our  house.  If  you  can  pay 
the  mortgage — " 

"If  you  can  bring  the  deed,  I  can  pay  the 
mortgage." 

"That  is  fair  and  business-like,"  said  Mac 
kenzie.  "Mr.  McDuff,  your  position  here  is 
both  unbusiness-like  and  ungentlemanly." 

"I  will  make  you  all  sorry  and  ashamed,"  cried 
Shaw. 

And  Fame  answered  with  a  provoking  laugh, 
"Shaw,  do  not  threaten.  When  you  are  calm 
it  will  make  you  sick  with  fright  to  remember 


Money  and  Marriage  237 

the  threats  you  made  when  you  were  angry. 
Look  to  your  threats  and  tie  them  up,  or  they 
will  bring  you  into  trouble." 

"Miss  Macrae,  let  me  remind  you  that  once 
you  were  very  proud  of  my  attentions  to  you." 

"I  tread  all  such  memories  under  my  feet." 

"And  that  your  father  has  had  favors  from  us 
that  ought  to  make  him  confounded — " 

Then  Macrae  rose.  He  was  trembling  with 
suppressed  passion,  and  Mackenzie  took  him 
aside;  but  Fame  turned  on  his  tormentor  like 
an  angry  lioness. 

"Shaw  McDuff,"  she  said,  "you  slander  by 
nature  and  by  custom,  just  as  ill  dogs  bark. 
Nature  went  about  a  wicked  piece  of  work  when 
she  made  a  man  like  you.  Go  to  your  own  place, 
you  are  not  worthy  to  breathe  in  this  house." 

"Your  ill  words  will  not  kill  me,  Fame, 
though  I  dare  say  you  would  like  to  do  so." 

"I  would  not.  I  would  think  scorn  to  let  out 
such  a  contemptible  spirit." 

"Mr.  McDuff,  we  have  no  further  business  at 
this  time,"  said  the  provost.  "When  you  bring 
the  paper  you  will  receive  your  money." 

"You  have  nothing  to  do  with  this  affair,  sir," 
answered  Shaw. 

"I  have.  I  am  the  representative  of  my  friend 
Macrae."  Then  he  took  Macrae's  arm,  and  they 
went  out  of  the  room  together. 


238  Souls  of  Passage 

"They  have  run  away  from  me,"  said  Shaw 
scornfully,  turning  to  Fame.  "Now,"  he  asked 
peremptorily,  "where  is  the  paper  you  said  had 
been  stolen?" 

"I  said  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  only  'supposed' 
it  might  have  been  lost  or  stolen." 

"My  heart  tells  me  you  know  all  about  it." 

"Your  heart,  or  what  passes  for  your  heart, 
always  told  you  lies;  for  instance,  when  it  told 
you  that  I  was  ever  proud  of  your  attentions. 
The  very  idea !" 

"As  for  Alan  Mackenzie — " 

"You  are  hoarse  with  barking  at  Alan's  good 
qualities  and  good  fortune." 

"Hang  Alan  Mackenzie!" 

"Shaw  McDuff  first;  that  would  only  be  the 
barest  justice." 

"You  shall  repent  this  morning's  work." 

"When  the  moon  drops  millstones." 

"You  will  die  for  love  of  me  yet." 

"I  will  die  for  a  dog  first." 

"You  think  you  are  wonderfully  witty." 

"A  girl  needs  all  her  wit  when  she  is  talking 
with  a  knave  and  a  fool."  And  at  this  moment 
she  had  a  splendor  of  beauty  that  made  Shaw's 
love  for  her  flame  like  fire.  He  was  silent  for 
a  moment,  and  then  he  went  impetuously  to  her, 
put  his  hand  upon  her  shoulders,  and  said  with 
uncontrollable  emotion : 


J1E   WENT  TO   HER  ANIJ   PUT  HJS  HANU  O.N   HER   SUOULUER.' 


Money  and  Marriage  239 

"Fame!  Fame!  let  all  this  pass  and  be  for 
given.  I  love  you!  I  love  you  to  distraction! 
Love  me  a  little,  and  I  promise  you  that  this 
thousand  pounds  shall  never  more  trouble  you 
or  your  father." 

"I  am  not  selling  a  thousand  pounds'  worth 
of  my  love;  and  my  father  wishes  to  pay  what 
he  owes,  and  I  wish  him  to  pay  it.  A  favor 
from  the  McDuffs  would  be  a  chain  round  our 
lives." 

"For  all  that,  listen  to  me.  I  am  in  mortal 
earnest.  I  love  you  in  spite  of  all  that  has  come 
and  gone,  and  you  do  love  me !" 

"I  do  not.  I  shall  never  forgive  your  inter 
ference  with  Gillian  Grant — and  others  also." 

At  this  point  Alister  Macrae,  a  young  man  in 
the  employ  of  the  family,  entered  the  room;  he 
said  his  chief  would  be  at  the  house  of  Peter 
McDuff  the  following  morning  at  ten  o'clock 
with  witnesses  and  the  money;  and  "would  the 
young  gentleman  be  civil  enough  to  let  the 
matter  drop  until  that  time?"  he  asked. 

While  the  message  was  being  delivered  Fame 
left  the  room.  She  found  her  father  and  his 
friend  ready  for  a  walk,  and  they  bid  her  "put  on 
her  hat  and  they  would  go  with  her  as  far  as 
Dunbrack;"  and  as  she  feared  another  encounter 
with  Shaw,  she  was  glad  of  the  protection  of 
their  society.  At  Dunbrack  Fame  was  very 


240  Souls  of  Passage 

welcome,  there  were  many  little  odds  and  ends 
to  do  or  to  finish,  and  Jessie  was  not  as  practical 
as  usual.  How  could  she  be  practical  when  she 
conceived  it  to  be  her  duty  constantly  to  remind 
herself  and  others  that  she  was  spending  "the 
last  days  of  her  girlhood"?  She  had  passing  fits 
of  sentiment  about  her  "girlhood's  days;"  all  her 
fourteen  trunks  were  packed  and  directed  to  her 
future  residence,  and  she  stood  and  looked  at 
them,  and  cried  a  little,  and  was  very  affectionate, 
and  rather  wearisome  amid  all  the  many  duties 
there  were  to  attend  to;  the  more  so,  as  Mrs. 
Mackenzie  was  a  little  off  her  serene  balance, 
and  worried  and  fretted,  and  inwardly  dreading 
the  next  three  days. 

However,  there  was  nothing  to  dread.  James 
Laidlaw  was  too  happy  to  be  captious  or  even 
argumentative.  He  was,  indeed,  so  occupied 
with  his  lovely  bride  that  he  let  assertions  and 
opinions  greatly  at  variance  with  his  own  con 
victions  pass  without  denial  or  with  very  short, 
curt  opposition.  For  Macrae  had  been  talking 
on  his  favorite  subject,  the  talk  having  arisen 
from  his  anxiety  to  pay  at  once  the  mortgage 
on  his  house.  "I  want  to  be  feeling  the  old 
home  my  very  own,"  he  said.  "I  might  trouble 
McDuff  as  he  has  troubled  me,  but  what  would 
I  be  gaining?  I  would  rather  put  him  out  of 
the  house  he  has  no  friends  in — dead  or  alive." 


Money  and  Marriage  241 

"Do  you  think,  sir,"  asked  Alan,  "that  souls 
out  of  the  flesh  still  take  an  interest  in  their  old 
home?" 

"Why  not?"  inquired  Macrae.  "It  is  this 
intuitive  feeling  that  is  at  the  bottom  of  the 
popular  respect  we  are  all  paying  to  families  who 
have  lived  for  centuries  in  the  same  dwelling. 
Such  old  houses  are  knowing  their  own;  and 
their  own  are  knowing,  sweetly  and  fully,  the 
meaning  of  the  word  'home.'  Let  us  be  taking, 
for  example,  the  Macraes,  the  Mackenzies,  and 
the  Dunbracks.  Through  bodily  processes  that 
have  been  going  on  and  on  and  on  they  have 
sprung  from  the  Ross  land  around  us.  They 
are  all  of  them  sons  and  daughters  of  the  soil; 
and  there  will  be  a  great  and  inherited  sympathy 
between  them  and  the  soil.  They  are  loving 
well,  as  they  ought  to  do,  the  land  of  their 
birth." 

"Then  you  think,  Ian,"  asked  Mackenzie, 
"that  the  reincarnating  soul  comes  back  prefera 
bly  to  its  own  people  and  place?" 

"I  think,  Robert,  that  the  attractions  and 
relationships  which  this  pronounced  element 
must  have  upon  the  spiritual  nomad  will  be  con 
sidered  and  not  ignored  by  the  infinite  wisdom 
and  love  which  guides  that  never-resting  essence 
from  one  carnal  experience  to  another;  always 
willing  it  onward  and  upward  to  Himself." 


242  Souls  of  Passage 

"Then  the  Macraes  may  have  come  back  for 
many  generations  to  the  old  gray  house  on  the 
seashore?" 

"They  may,  every  generation  stepping  a  little 
upward.  Fergus  Macrae,  the  first  bare-armed 
thane  who  led  our  clan  to  war  and  rapine,  had 
many  traits  that  still  linger  in  our  family.  Thank 
God !  we  are  different  men  and  women  from  the 
wild  pagan  Macraes  of  those  early  centuries,  but 
we  are  Macraes  stiil." 

"Still,  sir,  reincarnated  souls  must  often  go 
into  strange  families,"  said  Alan. 

"I  am  not  denying  that,  Alan;  but  I  think 
they  are  easily  to  be  known.  They  have  no 
family  tastes  or  resemblances;  they  are  the  black 
sheep,  the  genius,  the  unmanageable  member, 
who  runs  counter  to  every  family  tradition, 
because  their  souls  have  no  such  traditions. 
They  are  in  the  family,  but  not  of  it;  and  they 
have  come  into  it  because  infinite  love  and  wis 
dom  discerned  in  that  special  household  the 
conditions  necessary  for  that  soul's  education  or 
trial  or  discipline." 

"This  idea  virtually  implies  the  idea  of  original 
sin,"  said  Mackenzie. 

"Yes;  and  also  of  original  goodness.  Children, 
as  every  one  knows,  are  born  into  this  world 
good  as  well  as  evil,  clever  as  well  as  ignorant. 
For  each  soul  is  coming  to  reincarnation  with 


Money  and  Marriage  243 

the  absolutely  just  measure  of  good  or  evil  forces 
which  its  previous  incarnations  have  developed. 
Now,  you  will  be  understanding  that  to  have 
acquired  evil  tendencies  in  previous  lives  is  to  be 
born  under  an  evil  destiny;  and  to  have  acquired 
good  tendencies  is  to  have  the  happy  lot  of  the 
writer  of  the  Book  of  Wisdom,  who  says  of 
himself,  'Being  good,  I  come  into  a  body  un- 
denled.'  " 

As  this  conversation  had  been  progressing, 
Jessie  and  Laidlaw  joined  the  group  and  stood 
listening.  But  for  once  the  minister  was  not 
eager  to  deny  or  controvert.  Jessie's  sweet 
loveliness  and  affection,  the  happy  hopes  of 
their  near  bridal,  with  its  many  considerations, 
were  so  vital  and  so  delightful  that  it  was  difficult 
for  him  to  enter  into  other  subjects.  He  did 
really  feel  that  for  this  once  love  might  inno 
cently  put  aside  duty.  So  when  Alan  briefly 
restated  Macrae's  positions  and  asked  Mr.  Laid 
law  what  he  thought  of  them,  the  minister 
answered  a  little  impatiently: 

"I  consider  the  whole  subject  of  reincarnation 
one  of  God's  secrets.  He  has  not  revealed  it  to 
us  in  His  Word.  We  have  no  means  of  finding 
out  whether  or  not  we  have  lived  before.  Moral 
ity  does  not  compel  us  to  find  it  out.  It  is  not 
possible  for  us  to  find  it  out.  We  are  not  to  be 
punished  for  not  finding  it  out;  and  I  am  very 


244  Souls  of  Passage 

doubtful  if  it  would  be  lawful  to  pray  that  the 
truth  regarding  this  idea  might  be  revealed 
to  us." 

He  pronounced  these  opinions  with  the  posi 
tive  air  of  one  having  authority,  and  it  was 
beautiful  to  watch  Jessie's  admiration.  She 
resolved  from  that  moment  never  again  to  in 
quire  into  the  mysteries  of  past  or  future;  and 
she  led  her  beloved  away  to  a  quiet  corner,  where 
they  could  discourse  of  their  marriage  and  of 
those  comfortable,  world-like  events  which  are 
natural  to  the  common  tongue  of  every  man. 

But  it  was  easy  to  excuse  Laidlaw's  dictation 
at  this  time;  the  men  smiled  at  him  and  at  each 
other;  and  when  he  was  beyond  hearing  Macrae 
said,  "We  will  set  down  nothing  Laidlaw  said 
to-night  against  him.  He  is  a  lover,  and  a  wise 
lover  is  just  the  most  foolish  of  mortals.  If  he 
had  been  in  a  natural  condition,  I  would  have 
shown  him  that  if  reincarnation  is  the  secret  of 
God,  it  is  an  open  secret  to  those  who  have 
reached  a  point  where  they  desire  to  look  into  it. 
I  would  have  shown  him  that  His  Word  is  not 
without  revelation  on  this  subject.  Robert, 
Alan,  it  is  the  older  Scripture  written  inefface- 
ably  on  every  soul  that  comes  into  this  world  to 
be  'continually  fashioned,'  even  while  to  mortal 
ken  there  appears  to  be  no  seed  of  goodness  in 
them."  - 


Money  and  Marriage  245 

During  this  conversation  Fame  and  Flora 
were  in  a  quiet  corner  of  a  small  parlor  adjoining 
the  dining-room.  Both  girls  were  weary  and 
depressed.  Flora  had  been  sympathizing  con 
tinually  with  Jessie  and  her  "girlhood's  days" 
and  her  bridal  responsibilities,  and  Fame  had 
torn  herself  to  pieces  nervously  in  her  quarrel 
with  Shaw. 

"Father  is  talking  of  lives  before  and  lives 
beyond,"  she  said  fretfully;  "and,  goodness 
knows,  one  life  is  hard  enough  to  wear  away." 

"Don't  you  believe  your  father,  Fame?" 

"Sometimes  I  know  he  is  right,  and  then 
sometimes  I  think  his  ideas  cannot  be  universally 
true;  for  I  am  well  acquainted  with  people  who 
are  not  worthy  of  one  life,  let  alone  many  lives. 
Yes,  I  am  thinking  of  Shaw  McDuff." 

"God  has  infinite  patience  with  such  souls, 
Fame." 

"Very  good,  but  I  am  only  Fame  Macrae,  and 
I  have  not  infinite  patience.  But  to-morrow! 
to-morrow !  we  shall  be  free  of  the  McDuffs,  and 
then  I  can  say  what  I  like  to  them  and  of  them." 

"I  don't  think  you  have  suffered  much  from 
restraining  yourself  about  them,  Fame.  I  wish 
Jessie  was  not  so  much  worried  about  Shaw's 
vacant  place.  I  do  believe  she  would  gladly 
welcome  him,  if  uncle  would  permit  him  to  be 
present.  I  cannot  understand  her;  but,  then, 


246  Souls  of  Passage 

human  sympathy  is  so  narrow  she  probably  does 
not  understand  me." 

"Father  was  saying  a  few  days  ago  that  even 
such  a  great  man  as  Thomas  Carlyle  had  little 
sympathy  and  still  less  understanding  of  other 
great  men.  He  thought  Tennyson  and  Burns 
and  even  Shakespeare  would  have  done  better  if 
they  had  written  in  prose;  and  he  asked  Dickens 
one  day,  'When  are  ye  goin'  to  do  some  wark?' ' 

The  next  day  there  was  a  welcome  pause  in 
events.  All  was  ready;  the  house  was  decked 
with  heather  and  asters  and  the  berries  of  the 
mystical  rowan  tree,  and  the  wedding  garments 
to  the  last  bow  and  comb  and  pin  were  laid  out. 
In  the  morning  Mackenzie  and  Macrae  went 
down  to  the  village  and  finished  "more  amicably 
than  previous  events  foreshadowed"  the  McDuff 
affair.  Peter  offered  his  hand  at  the  close  of  the 
business  to  Macrae,  and  after  a  short,  silent 
struggle  with  himself  Macrae  took  it.  Shaw 
did  not  appear,  and  Shaw  was  the  only  discord 
in  Jessie's  wedding  harmony.  The  place  reserved 
for  him  at  the  bride's  breakfast  was  still  empty, 
and  an  empty  place  was  said  to  presage  ill 
fortune. 

"Not  that  I  am  the  least  superstitious,"  Jessie 
constantly  affirmed,  "yet  I  do  wish  there  had 
been  no  quarrel  with  Shaw  just  at  this  time.  I 
think  it  was  very  thoughtless  in  Alan."  It 


Money  and   Marriage  247 

fretted  her  below  all  her  pleasant  things  and  all 
her  happy  expectations. 

In  the  afternoon  Alan,  Flora,  and  Fame  wan 
dered  off  among  the  pines.  There  were  many 
pleasant  resting  places  in  their  balmly  shadows, 
and  they  finally  sat  down  on  the  brown  ground 
and  talked  in  happy,  confidential  fashion  on 
many  subjects.  Suddenly  they  heard  a  peal  of 
joyous  laughter,  a  rippling,  hearty  laugh  that 
made  Fame  draw  her  brows  together  and  listen 
with  curious  intentness.  "There  is  some  one  in 
the  wood,"  she  said;  and  they  all  rose,  and  as 
they  did  so  two  young  men  came  with  swinging 
steps  down  the  narrow  path.  Flora  stepped 
aside,  Fame  blushed  and  flushed  and  trembled 
like  a  leaf  in  a  high  wind,  and  Alan  said  in  a  tone 
of  annoyance : 

"It  is  Harry  Seaford." 

"And  Gillian  Grant,"  added  Fame  in  a  whisper 
to  Flora. 

The  next  moment  they  were  standing  in  a 
group,  laughing,  chatting,  and  holding  each 
other's  hands.  Seaford  was  eloquently  regretful 
about  Alan's  dangerous  ride  through  the  storm. 
He  expressed  the  greatest  sorrow  at  the  whole 
event,  and  expressed  it  so  well  that  Alan  felt 
compelled  to  accept  the  apology,  and,  moreover, 
was  pleased  to  accept  it.  They  sat  down  again, 
and  for  an  hour  were  so  happy  that  Alan,  in  the 


248  Souls  of  Passage 

rebound  of  his  anger  toward  Seaford,  and  his 
instant  liking  for  Grant,  asked  both  young  men 
to  return  to  Dunbrack,  stay  all  night,  and  take 
part  in  the  wedding  festival  of  the  morrow. 

Seaford  said  they  were  on  their  way  to  join 
Lord  Caithness,  whose  yacht  would  put  into 
Morandaroch  that  afternoon  for  them. 

"But,"  said  Grant,  "I  shall  desert  Lord  Caith 
ness  without  a  scruple.  I  cannot  resist  a  wed 
ding,  and  I  am  delighted  at  the  good  fortune 
that  has  brought  me  the  invitation." 

".Well,  then,  all  the  more  I  must  keep  our 
engagement  with  Caithness,"  said  Seaford;  "and 
I  will  tell  him  what  an  irresistible  temptation 
has  found  you  out,  Grant." 

"Do  so;  he  would  have  cast  anchor  here  for 
a  month  or  two  if  it  had  overtaken  him.  Tell 
him  that." 

Then  Alan  proposed  that  they  should  all  walk 
with  Seaford  to  the  village,  and  the  offer  was 
enthusiastically  accepted.  Alan,  Flora,  and  Sea- 
ford  led  the  way;  Grant  and  Fame  followed — at 
a  rather  wide  distance — but  all  were  on  the  little 
pier  as  the  Caithness  yacht  came  into  harbor. 
Then  they  went  on  board  and  had  some  refresh 
ments  and  a  very  merry  time  over  it,  and  finally 
watched  the  yacht  out  to  sea,  Seaford  and  Caith 
ness  standing  bareheaded  in  the  sunshine  to 


Money  and  Marriage  249 

receive  and  return  the  waving  adieus  of  their 
late  companions. 

It  was  getting  near  the  dinner  hour,  and  they 
turned  homeward.  No  one  had  mentioned 
Shaw,  but  perhaps  all  were  thinking  of  him;  and 
thoughts  call  on  events;  so,  then,  it  was  little 
wonder  that  they  saw  Shaw  McDuff  coming 
straight  toward  them. 

"He  will  surely  turn  aside,"  said  Flora  to 
Alan.  "He  will  certainly  not  like  to  meet  Grant 
now."  But  Alan  shook  his  head,  for  he  knew 
well  that  Shaw  would  not  turn  aside  for  any  one. 
Nor  did  he.  He  stalked  straight  forward  with 
his  head  up  and  his  hand  on  the  spot  where  his 
ancestors  had  worn  their  dirks.  He  had  outlived 
the  custom  of  the  ready  weapon,  but  not  the 
impulse  to  use  it.  With  glowering,  passionate 
gaze  he  met  them;  staring  boldly,  blushlessly, 
and  insolently  into  the  faces  he  hated.  Alan 
bent  his  head  to  Flora,  and  Fame  and  Grant 
were  occupied  entirely  with  each  other.  No  one 
seemed  to  notice  the  offensive  young  man.  He 
had  been  intimate  with  Alan,  and  Alan  no  longer 
knew  him.  He  had  been  a  familiar  friend  of 
Flora's,  and  she  ignored  his  presence.  He  had 
rather  patronized  Grant  while  he  was  yet  under 
age,  had  stayed  in  his  home,  and  taught  him 
a  great  deal  about  grouse  and  deer;  and  Grant 


250  Souls  of  Passage 

now  passed  him  without  a  look;  nay,  he  even 
managed  to  infuse  into  his  total  indifference  the 
scorn  he  felt  for  a  man  who  could  lie  for  his  own 
ends  without  scruple  and  without  mercy. 

It  was  well  this  meeting  was  passing  and  tran 
sient  and  on  the  public  street,  for  in  the  few 
moments  covering  it  Shaw  drank  a  cup  that 
could  only  be  mingled  in  hell — hatred,  revenge, 
murder  were  rioting  in  his  heart.  Fame's  laugh 
hurt  him  like  a  sword  thrust,  and  Flora's  cool 
oblivion  set  the  blood  in  his  veins  racing  and 
boiling  with  ungovernable  rage.  He  was  sure 
Fame  and  Grant  were  talking  of  him  and  of  the 
lie  which  he  had  told  to  separate  them.  He  was 
sure  that  Alan  was  defaming  him  to  Flora,  and 
that  Flora  believed  all  he  chose  to  tell  her; 
so,  though  the  outward  man  passed  them  in  a 
fiendish  silence,  the  inner  man  was  venting  his 
diabolical  disappointment  in  short,  furious  asser 
tions,  emphasized,  as  was  usual  with  him  under 
great  emotion,  by  the  quick  sa!  sa!  of  the  angry 
Highlander. 

"This  is  all  because  we  wanted  our  money — 
sa!  sa!  That  despicable  young  scoundrel  would 
have  cheated  me  out  of  two  hundred  pounds! 
Fame's  father  is  just  as  bad — a  pair  of  rogues 
— the  McDuffs  were  too  many  for  them — and 
the  McDuffs,  thank  glory,  have  their  money! 
Let  them  laugh!  Sa!  sa!  sa!  Let  them  sneer! 


Money  and  Marriage  251 

Who  cares?  I  am  not  eating  out  of  their  cup — 
no,  indeed!  I  would  poison  it  if  I  could — I'll 
make  Dunbrack  too  hot  for  them  yet — see  if 
I  don't!  And,  worst  of  all,  that  cool,  insolent, 
unseeing  minister  this  morning !  He,  too !  Sa! 
He,  too,  sa!  In  Mackenzie's  and  Macrae's 
company  I  was  not  there  to  him — the  proud, 
egotistical,  opinionative  pedant  that  he  is — I  was 
to  be  this  and  that  at  his  wedding,  and  I  am 
nothing,  worse  than  nothing!  Confound  the 
whole  crowd !  I  wish  Dunbrack  would  turn  into 
a  furnace  and  burn  the  last  bone  of  them !" 

Such  thoughts  are  poison  to  the  heart  that 
nurses  them,  and  they  did  affect  for  a  while  those 
to  whom  they  were  directed.  A  certain  stillness 
and  sadness  insinuated  itself  into  the  joyous 
atmosphere  of  the  four  happy  hearts,  but  no  evil 
is  long  potent  against  the  power  of  love.  Before 
Dunbrack  was  reached  Shaw  had  been  quite 
forgotten,  and  they  were  talking  happily  of  the 
coming  winter  and  the  prospects  it  offered  for 
continuing  their  companionship. 

And  seldom  has  an  unexpected  visitor  found 
such  welcome  as  awaited  young  Grant.  Jessie 
looked  upon  him  as  specially  sent  to  avert  any 
ill  fortune  that  might  have  come  from  a  missing 
wedding  guest;  and,  indeed,  Grant  was  well  able 
to  make  himself  acceptable  to  all  his  entertainers. 
He  was  respectful  to  his  elders  ana  sympathetic 


252  Souls  of  Passage 

and  good-natured  with  those  of  his  own  age. 
Macrae  already  liked  him;  and  the  Mackenzies 
were  desirous  to  gain  the  good-will  of  a  family 
so  distinguished  and  so  neighborly  as  the  Grants. 
So,  then,  the  advent  of  Gillian  was  a  peculiar 
pleasure,  and  there  was  a  distinct  exhilaration 
in  the  house  of  Dunbrack  because  of  his  coming. 
Certainly  Jessie  had  a  right  to  be  in  her  brightest 
mood,  for  this  last  evening  of  her  "girlhood's 
days"  was  the  most  delightful  of  the  many  de 
lightful  evenings  the  past  summer  had  witnessed. 

She  was  even  ungrateful  enough  to  say  con 
fidentially  to  Flora  that  she  was  glad  Shaw 
McDuff  had  no  longer  a  place  in  their  home 
circle.  He  was  so  hard  to  please,  so  touchy,  so 
ready  to  feel  and  to  show  offence;  but  this  gay, 
good-tempered,  handsome  Gillian  Grant  thought 
only  of  others  and  of  what  he  could  do  to  pleas 
ure  others.  "I  am  afraid,"  she  continued,  "Shaw 
would  have  brought  me  dissension  or  bad  luck 
of  some  kind,  but  nothing  but  good  can  come 
from  such  a  godsend  as  young  Grant."  And 
perhaps  Jessie  only  voiced  clearly  something  of 
the  sentiment  that  was  in  every  heart. 

At  last,  at  last,  it  was  Jessie's  bridal  day.  The 
good  girl  had  her  usual  good  fortune.  The 
weather  was  all  that  could  be  wished;  the  ar 
rangements  were  so  perfect  that  there  was 
neither  hurry  nor  delay.  Events  fitted  into 


Money  and  Marriage  253 

events  precisely  as  they  had  been  ordered.  Even 
the  messenger  sent  to  Loch  Grant  for  Gillian's 
dress-suit  arrived  with  it  before  any  one  had 
begun  to  feel  anxious  for  its  arrival,  and  the 
whole  house  was  as  calm  and  devoid  of  worry  or 
excitement  as  if  it  was  an  ordinary  Sabbath 
morning. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  village  minister — who  was 
to  perform  the  ceremony — arrived.  He  found 
the  bridegroom  and  the  two  Mackenzies  and 
Ian  Macrae  and  Grant  chatting  comfortably 
together  in  the  large  parlor,  and  he  sat  down 
and  joined  in  the  conversation.  Not  even  the 
bridegroom  was  restless,  for  he  had  the  most 
profound  confidence  that  all  his  bride's  arrange 
ments  would  be  without  flaw  or  hindrance.  And 
precisely  as  the  clock  struck  eleven  the  provost 
left  the  room,  but  returned  immediately  with 
his  daughter  on  his  arm.  Very  fair,  exquisitely 
robed,  the  sweetest  image  and  ideal  of  a  minis 
ter's  bride  was  Jessie  Mackenzie  at  this  impor 
tant  hour  of  her  destiny.  And  her  lover  was 
worthy  of  her.  He  took  her  with  solemn  vows 
and  pure  and  true  affection  into  his  life,  and 
then  they  turned  with  radiant  faces  to  meet 
together  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  the  years  they 
were  to  share. 

Before  two  o'clock  Jessie  had  left  her  family 
and  her  home  forever;  the  mirth  incident  to  her 


254  Souls  of  Passage 

departure  was  over,  and  a  breath  of  sadness  went 
through  the  partly  deserted  house.  No  one 
could  quite  get  the  better  of  the  feeling.  Mrs. 
Mackenzie  shut  herself  in  her  room,  the  provost 
and  his  friend  Macrae  went  off  to  the  hills  for 
awhile.  Not  all  the  brave  show  of  merrymaking 
could  hide  the  still  sense  of  "bereavement"  that 
was  present.  The  family,  as  yet  unbroken,  had 
that  day  lost  a  member;  and  there  was  a  melan 
choly  pain  in  all  the  places  where  Jessie  had  left 
her  image  and  her  memory. 

"If  one  could  only  be  lovers  forever  and  ever, 
and  put  marriage  out  of  consideration,  how 
happy  we  might  be,"  said  Fame.  "What  did 
Jessie  get  married  for?  She  had  everything  her 
heart  could  desire." 

"I  think,"  answered  Flora,  "that  women  have 
an  innate  consciousness  that  marriage  is  neces 
sary  to  their  salvation — I  mean,  its  trials  and 
experiences,  and  so  on." 

"I  think,  at  any  rate,  they  know  that  it  makes 
them  more  interesting,"  said  Grant. 

"More  interesting!"  cried  Fame;  "what  non 
sense  !" 

"Oh,  but  it  does,"  continued  Grant;  "marriage 
is  greater  than  love,  just  as  Penelope  is  greater 
than  Nausika.  Marriage,  not  love,  is  the  acme 
of  life.  At  least,  I  think  so." 


Money  and  Marriage  255 

"But  there  is  such  a  thing  as  Platonic  love," 
said  Fame;  "I  have  heard  of  it." 

"And  it  is  Platonic  nonsense,"  answered 
Gillian  with  a  merry  laugh.  "Love  is  life;  I  have 
loved,  I  have  lived;  I  do  love,  I  am  living;  and 
if  I  love  and  am  loved  I  would  defy  any  ill 
fortune  to  make  me  miserable."  Then  he  looked 
at  Fame,  and  her  splendid  eyes  lengthened  and 
languished  with  the  love  that  was  brooding  in 
her  heart. 

But  Alan  said  not  a  word.  He  looked  from 
Fame  to  Flora,  and  as  his  eyes  met  hers,  he  felt 
in  their  clear,  candid  light  a  revelation  of  love 
that  was  for  him  and  him  only;  and  with  self- 
reproaching  thoughts  uttered  in  his  heart  the 
wisest  and  tenderest  of  household  prayers: 

"Grant  that  I  may  be  saved  from  offences 
against  my  own  affections." 


CHAPTER  X. 

FAME   MAKES   A    CONFESSION. 

A  FEW  days  after  Jessie's  marriage  the  provost 
returned  to  Glasgow,  and  the  house  in  some  mys 
terious  way  became  permeated  with  that  restless 
sense  of  coming  change  which  infects  even  birds 
of  passage  just  before  their  migration.  For  all 
changes  have  a  certain  melancholy ;  we  are  leaving 
something  behind  us,  and  that  something  is  part 
of  ourselves.  Autumn,  with  its  pensive  odor  of 
decay,  its  dreamy  daylights  and  sad  twilights,  had 
taken  full  possession;  the  moors  were  no  longer 
purple,  the  woods  no  longer  green,  and  the  moun 
tains — turned  iron  gray,  and  standing  in  austere 
shadows — looked  stupendous. 

Mrs.  Mackenzie  was  now  eager  to  return  to  her 
city  home;  but  it  was  no  light  work  to  "put  the 
house  away"  for  the  winter.  And  she  would  have 
no  help  but  her  Cousin  Thrift's,  who,  she  said, 
"had  her  wits  about  her  and  no  lovers  to  turn 
them  topsy-turvy."  In  reality  she  wanted  the 
young  people  to  have  the  full  pleasure  of  these  last 


Fame  Makes  a  Confession       257 

days.  It  made  her  happy  to  see  them  go  off  to  the 
woods  and  come  home  with  arms  full  of  bronzing 
ferns.  She  liked  to  have  them  gather  round  the 
dinner-table,  hungry  and  tired  and  full  of  what 
they  had  seen  and  heard  tell  of. 

Perhaps  Fame  was  not  quite  as  much  at  Dun- 
brack  as  formerly;  for  Grant  went  often  to  Ma 
crae's,  and  Fame  had  a  more  selfish  and  exacting 
nature  than  Flora ;  she  liked  Grant  best  when  she 
had  him  entirely  to  herself.  But  Alan  was  not 
sorry  for  this  arrangement.  Fame's  ready  resig 
nation  of  his  attentions  and  his  society  was  not  a 
flattering  thing ;  and  he  perceived  clearly  that  her 
fancy  for  himself  had  been  light  and  evanescent 
as  a  dream.  Grant  had  awakened  her,  and  she 
was  his  princess  beyond  doubt  or  recall.  And 
when  all  excuses  and  prior  claims  had  been  al 
lowed,  it  was  a  kind  of  desertion  Alan  did  not 
like;  he  felt  that  he  would  have  run  the  risk  of 
temptation  if  he  might  have  received  with  it  a 
little  of  that  flattering  balm  which  women  usually 
administer  to  lovers  who  have  had  their  day. 

However,  these  thoughts  troubled  only  the  sur 
face  of  his  life ;  Flora  was  life  itself  to  him.  He 
was  not  sorry  when  they  were  left  to  wander 
alone,  and  hand  in  hand — sometimes  very  silently 
— climb  to  the  highest  point  of  Dunbrack  Moun 
tain,  to  watch  the  young  ravens  on  the  gray 
precipice,  croaking  and  playing  queer  antics  with 


258  Souls  of  Passage 

each  other;  or  to  admire  the  handsome  cock 
grouse  strutting  proudly  with  their  mates,  their 
red  combs  and  beautiful  brown  plumage  glistening 
in  the  sun.  Sometimes  they  went  to  the  grave 
yard  where  the  faithful  Earne's  cast-off  mortality 
had  been  laid.  They  put  late  flowers,  and  heather, 
and  ferns  on  the  lonely  mound,  and  talked  about 
his  true  heart,  and  wondered  in  what  blest  isle  of 
God  his  spirit  tarried.  Alan  had  ordered  a  shaft 
of  white  marble  to  mark  the  spot,  but  in  the  mean 
time  the  oar  which  his  strong  arm  had  once  plied 
stood  upright  at  the  head  of  the  grave,  and  kept 
his  name  fresh  in  eyes  that  yet  wept  for  him. 

Every  day  the  coming  change  was  more  in  evi 
dence.  Large  trunks  cumbered  the  halls,  the  fine 
furniture  was  shrouded  in  white  linen,  and  there 
was  that  unavoidable  relaxation  of  order  and  dis 
cipline  which  accompanies  disruption  of  any  kind. 
Alan  felt  all  that  this  change  meant  for  him.  It 
was  not  that  he  must  leave  Dunbrack,  he  was  to 
leave  home  altogether.  He  was  to  go  to  a  strange 
city  and  to  unusual  and  important  duties.  He 
was  to  miss  constantly  the  cheering  love  and 
encouraging  presence  of  Flora,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  was  to  stand  alone.  But  he  was 
really  anxious  to  stand. 

For  this  very  reason  he  frequently  during  these 
last  days  sought  the  society  of  Macrae.  His 
stately  antique  sincerity,  the  entire  genuineness  of 


Fame  Makes  a  Confession       259 

his  character,  had  won  the  heart  of  his  young  dis 
ciple.  He  confided  to  him  his  hopes  and  his  as 
pirations,  and  was  invariably  lifted  up  by  his 
counsels.  For  Macrae  highly  approved  the  pro 
vost's  plans  for  his  son,  and  when  Alan  described 
his  intentions  and  the  work  before  him  he 
answered  him  enthusiastically  in  the  stirring  prac 
tical  Hebraic  counsel : 

"Get  thee  forth  into  their  midst,  and  whatso-< 
ever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with  all  thy 
might." 

"I  shall  be  alone,"  said  Alan;  "there  will  be  no 
one  to  help  or  advise  me." 

"God  is  for  you ;  He  is  always  on  your  side  if 
you  are  having  the  faintest  desire  to  do  better. 
He  is  always  willing  your  uttermost  salvation. 
Are  you  able  to  imagine  any  greater  strength  for 
moral  improvement  than  this?" 

"I  shall  have  a  constant  fight  with  my  weak, 
ignoble  tendencies." 

"You  will  be  finding  out  that  the  only  way  to 
fight  them  is  to  replace  them  with  nobler  ones. 
Moreover,  remember  this,  if  your  vices  do  not  die 
while  you  live,  if  they  survive  you,  they  will  be 
born  again  with  you.  Conquer  them  now;  you 
have  a  good  opportunity;  perhaps  a  far  more 
favorable  one  than  you  may  have  if  you  leave  their 
conquest  to  some  future  time — or  life." 

"Then  what  is  the  first  step  to  be  taken?" 


26 o  Souls  of  Passage 

"Tell  me  this :  if  you  were  a  sculptor  and  had 
some  old  clay  which  you  wished  to  make  into  a 
new  form,  what  is  the  first  thing  you  would  be 
doing?" 

"I  would,  of  course,  first  consider  what  kind  of 
a  new  form  I  wished  to  make — man,  woman, 
child,  or  animal." 

"Just  so.  Then,  if  you  are  wishing  to  change 
your  old  character  for  one  nobler  and  higher,  you 
will  first  of  all  set  before  your  imagination  and 
your  will  the  lofty,  pure  ideal  you  wish  to  realize 
within  your  own  soul." 

"And  what  next,  sir?" 

"Then  you  will  be  protecting  this  ideal  in  your 
heart  of  hearts,  shielding  it  by  daily  prayer  and 
keeping  it  out  of  danger — that  is,  out  of  tempta 
tion — and  you  will  soon  be  finding  your  ideal 
growing  to  a  reality." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"Yes.  Can  you  make  a  single  grain  of  wheat 
grow  ?  You  cannot.  All  you  can  do  is  to  prepare 
the  conditions  under  which  wheat  will  grow.  In 
like  manner  you  cannot  grow  a  single  grace  within 
you,  but  the  grace  will  be  growing  of  itself  if  you 
furnish  the  proper  soil,  and  the  soil  is  your  life.  It 
will  be  a  foolish  thing  to  be  talking  and  dreaming 
of  some  great  ideal  if  you  do  not  let  it  nourish 
itself  by  your  life.  Love,  justice,  truth,  knowl 
edge,  are  not  objects  for  study  or  thought;  no, 


Fame  Makes  a  Confession       261 

indeed!  they  must  become  part  of  our  very  life; 
we  must  nourish  them  in  our  souls  by  living  in 
harmony  with  their  great  principles." 

"If  one  has  an  evil  passion  and  cannot  control 
it,  how  can  it  best  be  resisted,  sir  ?"  asked  Alan. 

"You  will  not  be  able  to  resist  what  you  cannot 
control — no,  indeed!" 

"Then,  how  can  control  be  gained  ?" 

"You  can  never  annihilate  a  passion,  but  you 
can,  as  I  said  before,  lead  it  into  higher  channels. 
If  you  do  not  do  this  it  will  grow  and  grow  till  it 
becomes  stronger  than  your  will  or  your  reason. 
But  listen  to  me,  Alan ;  you  can  displace  a  wicked 
passion  by  a  virtuous  one;  just  as  superstition  is 
displaced  by  knowledge,  greed  by  generosity, 
weakness  of  will  by  sturdy  resolves  inflexibly  and 
unflinchingly  carried  out." 

"And  there  is  always  prayer  to  help." 

"Take  care  what  you  mean  by  that,"  said  Ma 
crae  with  emphasis. 

"Do  you  not  believe  in  prayer  ?  Oh,  yes  you  do ! 
I  know  you  do." 

"I  believe  that  there  is  not  one  single  instance  in 
the  history  of  man  in  which  true  prayer  has  failed. 
If  any  one  has  not  obtained  what  they  asked,  it 
only  proves  that  they  were  not  knowing  how  to 
pray." 

"What  is  true  prayer?"  sighed  Alan.  "Who 
knows  ?" 


262  Souls  of  Passage 

"I  will  tell  you.  It  is  not  only  words,  it  is  also 
works.  The  gods  do  help  those  who  help  them 
selves  ;  for  prayer  is  the  lifting  up  of  the  soul  to 
the  highest  ideal  it  has.  Our  ideal  will  not  come 
down  to  us ;  we  are  to  rise  up  by  prayer  and  good 
works  to  it.  Yes,  indeed !  How  else  are  we  to  be 
come  conquerors  of  our  lower  selves  and  step 
higher  toward  God  ?" 

"I  am  not  sure  I  understand." 

"Think  one  moment,  Alan.  If  you  take  into 
your  mind  any  thought  it  will  grow  and  grow  till 
it  will  needs  express  itself  in  words  and  actions. 
If  you  think  wrong  of  a  person,  and  encourage 
that  thought,  soon  you  will  say  wrong  of  him, 
and  it  will  not  be  long  till  you  do  him  wrong.  For 
if  you  wish  to  call  up  a  wicked  spirit,  you  need 
not  go  in  search  of  him,  you  will  only  be  requiring 
to  permit  him  to  come — that  is,  if  an  evil  thought 
enters  the  soul,  and  you  take  its  claims  into  your 
consideration,  you  give  it  a  promise,  you  induce  it 
to  remain,  and  it  will  urge  and  urge  its  claim  until 
it  is  granted.  .Is  not  this  so?" 

"I  know  it  is." 

"Well,  then,  a  good  thought  is  far  more  mighty. 
Let  it  enter  your  soul,  take  all  its  claims  into  your 
consideration,  guard  it  with  prayer,  feed  it  with 
holy  aspirations,  and  let  it  work  in  you  and 
through  you  its  perfect  work.  Thus  a  man's  acts 
express  his  thoughts,  they  are  his  writing  in  the 


Fame  Makes  a  Confession       263 

Book  of  Life.  And  such  prayer  never  failed  and 
never  will  fail." 

These  were  the  great  facts  which  underlay  all 
their  conversations,  and  Alan  accepted  as  much  of 
them  as  he  was  able  at  that  time  to  assimilate. 
Certainly  they  stimulated  and  strengthened  that 
intensive  life  which  strikes  root  downward,  and 
these  last  days  of  pale  sunshine  and  cool,  short 
twilights  were  to  Alan  days  of  large  horizons, 
days  in  which  he  realized  that  in  its  relation  to 
what  is  to  be  hereafter  there  is  no  human  business 
or  occupation  which  is  not  awful  and  sacred — 
the  work  given  us  to  do,  our  portion  in  the  days 
of  our  vanity,  our  discipline,  and  our  task. 

At  length  the  very  last  day  of  their  sojourn  at 
Dunbrack  came.  Alan  spent  a  couple  of  hours  with 
Macrae,  and  on  his  way  home  walked  to  the  pier 
to  see  if  the  little  steamer  which  was  to  carry  back 
to  Glasgow  their  belongings  had  arrived.  He 
found  her  just  casting  anchor,  and  turned  quickly 
home  to  superintend  the  removal  of  the  luggage 
to  her  deck.  On  his  way  up  the  mountain  he  met 
Fame,  and  they  walked  to  the  castle  together.  The 
trees  were  bare  and  the  road  ankle  deep  in  leaves, 
and  there  was  a  slight  frost  on  the  ground.  Fame 
was  unusually  silent,  but  she  was  "all  there;"  and 
in  some  way  known  to  women — and  generally 
natural  to  them — she  managed  to  put  a  distance 
between  Alan  and  herself  that  it  was  impossible 


264  Souls  of  Passage 

for  him  to  cross.  He  could  not  say  a  word  of  ad 
miration  or  love  to  her,  and  he  was  not  sorry  for 
this  condition,  but  he  imagined  Fame  might  ex 
pect  him  to  do  so.  On  the  contrary,  she  compelled 
him  to  wonder  whether  he  really  ever  had  made 
love  to  her;  whether  he  really  ever  had  kissed 
those  lips,  at  once  so  smiling  and  so  forbidding. 
He  would  not  have  been  astonished  if  Fame  had 
positively  denied  it.  He  was  half  inclined  to 
tempt  her  to  do  so.  He  looked  at  her  reproach 
fully,  and  she  was  quite  unconscious  of  his  griev 
ance.  He  tried  talking  sentimentally,  and  asked 
her  if  she  yet  remembered  what  delightful  walks 
they  had  in  the  moonlit  garden ;  and  she  answered 
with  a  pretty  enthusiasm : 

"Oh,  yes!  And  in  the  wood!  and  on  the  sea 
shore!  Oh,  it  was  all  charming!  The  happiest 
time  of  my  life !  And  I  am  going  to  Glasgow  this 
winter,  and  father  is  going  with  me ;  how  nice  it  is 
to  have  a  little  money  to  spare !" 

"And  a  little  love  to  spare  also,"  said  Alan  at  a 
venture,  trying  to  pique  her  into  some  acknowl 
edgment. 

"Oh,  dear  me,  no,"  she  answered  with  disdain. 
"Who  wants  the  'sparings'  of  love?" 

Then  Alan  thought,  "Flora  has  told  her  of  our 
engagement,"  and  he  said  no  more ;  but  he  kicked 
the  fallen  leaves  with  his  walking  stick  until  Fame 
said: 


Fame  Makes  n.  Confession       265 

"What  have  the  leaves  done  to  you  ?  Are  you 
forgetting  how  pleasant  was  their  rustle  and  their 
shadow  when  the  sun  was  hot  ?  I  don't  like  such 
ingratitude."  And  Alan  was  kept  safely  busy  de 
fending  himself  from  this  charge  until  they 
reached  the  castle. 

He  left  Fame  at  the  parlor  door,  and  he  left  her 
with  a  burning  and  indignant  heart,  angry  at 
women  in  general,  and  very  angry  at  Fame  in 
particular.  "Her  eyes  had  a  look  in  them  that 
checked  me  on  every  side,"  he  muttered.  "It  was 
her  fault,  too.  What  unreliable,  provoking 
creatures  women  are !  As  for  Fame,  she  is  over 
fond  of  Fame  to  love  any  man  as  he  ought  to  be 
loved — and  I'm  not  caring — I'm  not  caring  a 
penny  piece:  there  is  Flora — dear,  sweet,  lovable 
Flora!  I  am  well  content  with  my  womanly 
Flora,  and  I'm  rather  sorry  for  Grant  running 
after  such  a  will-o'-the-wisp  as  Fame  Macrae." 

While  Alan  was  relieving  his  wounded  pride  by 
such  reflections  and  assertions  Fame  sought  her 
friend.  She  was  not  in  the  "put  by"  parlors,  but 
she  found  her  in  the  upper  room  which  was 
specially  her  own.  This  apartment  was  still  cosey 
and  comfortable.  There  was  no  furniture  in  it  of 
any  financial  value,  Flora  having  chosen  nearly 
every  piece  from  the  ancient  belongings  of  her 
own  family.  The  little  tent  bed  had  been  safe  for 
two  generations  in  the  Dunbrack  garret,  and  it 


266  Souls  of  Passage 

would  be  quite  as  safe  neatly  spread  in  Flora's 
own  room.  The  tapestry  chairs,  and  the  old  cab 
inet,  and  the  case  of  drawers,  and  the  faded  work- 
table  of  Lady  Sara — these  things  could  defy  both 
time  and  thieves;  and  they  stood  in  their  usual 
comfortable  order  about  the  pleasant,  restful 
place.  There  was  a  bright,  blazing  fire  of  ash  logs 
in  the  open  hearth,  and  Flora  sat  before  it  with  a 
book  in  her  hand.  She  was  delighted  to  put  it 
down  and  welcome  her  friend. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  Fame!"  she  cried. 
"This  sense  of  going  away  makes  the  days  so  long. 
I  was  thinking  of  you,  and  wondering  how  soon 
you  would  come,  and  half  afraid  Gillian  would  get 
hold  of  you  before  I  did." 

As  she  said  these  friendly  words  she  was  unty 
ing  Fame's  hat  and  helping  her  to  remove  her 
mantilla,  and  setting  her  a  chair  on  the  hearth-rug 
beside  her  own. 

"I  have  very  good  and  very  important  news  to 
tell  you,  dear  Flora,"  said  L'ame  with  a  very  im 
portant  air.  "What  do  you  think  ?  We  are  going 
to  Glasgow ;  father  and  I  are  both  going.  Father 
had  a  letter  this  morning  from  Mr.  Mackenzie, 
and  he  says  he  can  let  us  have  a  pretty  home  for 
the  winter  at  a  rent  so  small  i-  is  not  worth  think 
ing  about.  And  father  was  pleased  at  the  offer, 
and  we  are  going  to  Glasgow  in  a  month." 

"I  know  the  house,  Fame.    I  heard  uncle  speak 


Fame  Makes  a  Confession       267 

of  it — a  very  pretty  place  near  Kelvin  Grove.  It 
belongs  to  his  old  friend  Bailie  Brodie,  who  is  go 
ing  to  the  south  of  France  with  his  sick  daughter. 
I  am  glad  about  it — so  very  glad,  Fame." 

"It  is  quite  a  providence,  Flora,  because  I  shall 
have  a  great  deal  to  do  this  winter,  for  I  am  to  be 
married  in  the  spring." 

"I  expected  that  news,  Fame.  Any  one  could 
see  that  Gillian  and  you  were  intended  for  each 
other.  Such  a  good-hearted,  handsome  fellow! 
And  how  dearly  he  loves  you !" 

"Well,"  answered  Fame,  "he  does  nothing  but 
tell  me  so;  and  I  do  think  we  were  intended  for 
each  other,  because  even  Shaw  McDufFs  malice 
could  not  part  us.  How  Shaw  will  blaze  and 
shiver  when  he  hears  of  our  marriage !  I  am  not 
sorry  for  him,  not  at  all.  He  once  told  me  I  had 
been  'proud  of  his  attentions.'  Fancy  that !  Now 
some  day  I  shall  be  Lady  Grant,  and  that  will  be  a 
position  to  be  proud  of ;  because  the  Grants  are  a 
fine  old  Highland  family,  almost  as  ancient  and 
historic  as  the  Macraes." 

"And  so  you  are  really  to  be  married  in  the 
spring  ?  And  to  Gillian,  after  all  ?  I  am  so  glad 
for  you." 

"Gillian  spoke  to  my  father  yesterday;  they 
had  a  long  talk,  and  Gillian  told  me  that  father 
kissed  him  when  it  was  over,  and  called  him  his 
'dear  son.'  Moreover,  he  said  I  would  be  having 


268  Souls  of  Passage 

every  foot  of  the  Macrae  land,  and  that  a  part  of  it 
had  once  been  the  Grants'  land,  and  so,  very  likely, 
land  and  lady  were  going  home.  You  know  how 
father  would  say  these  things  ?  Gillian  came  back 
to  me  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  I  am  sure  father 
will  have  the  best  of  sons  in  Gillian." 

"And  you  the  best  of  husbands." 

"I  am  sure  of  that.  When  we  meet  in  Glasgow 
we  shall  arrange  about  the  wedding  and  buy  my 
wedding  clothes.  I  am  to  have  a  very  fine  cere 
mony.  Lady  Grant  is  desiring  it  and  Gillian 
also." 

"And  you?" 

"I  am  feeling  that  it  would  not  be  right  to  go 
against  their  wishes,  especially  as  it  is  my  wish 
likewise,"  and  Fame  laughed  happily  as  she  added, 
"Will  you  believe  that  I  lay  awake  hours  last  night 
dressing  myself  as  a  bride  ?  I  decided  the  matter  a 
dozen  times,  and  then  considered  it  afresh.  That 
was  because  I  had  not  you  to  help  me.  You  know 
I  always  leave  the  decisive  word  to  you." 

"You  managed  the  decisive  word  about  Gillian 
without  my  help,  Fame." 

"That  is  different.  Nobody  can  choose  a  hus 
band  for  a  girl  but  the  girl  who  has  to  live  with 
him.  At  the  beginning  of  our  acquaintance  you 
thought  Shaw  would  make  a  very  suitable  hus 
band  for  me." 

"When  I  knew  Shaw  better  I  changed  my 


Fame  Makes  a  Confession       269 

opinion.  You  would  never  have  submitted  to 
him.  You  could  not  have  controlled  him.  You 
would  have  made  both  yourself  and  him  miser 
able." 

"It  is  more  than  likely  I  would  have  made  Shaw 
miserable,  but  as  for  myself,  I  should  have  been 
finding  a  kind  of  happiness  in  that  occupation." 

"You  are  talking  against  yourself  and  without 
reason.  But  what  is  the  use  in  speculating  on 
what  'might  have  been'  ?  What  is  to  be  is  so  much 
nicer." 

"Yes,  it  is;  but  Shaw  was  not  the  only  'might 
have  been.'  I  was  very  much  in  love  with  Alan 
for  a  little  while — at  least,  I  thought  I  was.  Did 
you  never  notice  it  ?" 

"No." 

"Of  course,  when  Gillian  came  I  knew  it  was 
but  a  passing  fancy,  and  I  made  no  scruple  of  let 
ting  Alan  see  at  once  that  when  the  true  lover 
arrived  it  was  time  to  stop  playing  at  love." 

During  this  speech  Flora  was  making  a  des 
perate  effort  to  keep  control  of  herself ;  and  to  the 
strong  heart  sorrow  is  spiritual  force  and  swift 
ness.  She  rallied  all  her  powers,  and  as  Fame 
went  carelessly  on,  stinging  her  with  every  word, 
she  sat  vaguely  smiling  and  looking  into  the  fire. 
But  interiorly  she  was  listening  to  the  voice  she 
never  disobeyed,  "Be  still!  Be  still!  For  Alan's 
sake  be  still!  For  your  own  sake  be  still!" 


270  Souls  of  Passage 

So,  though  she  was  suffering,  she  made  no  sign. 
And  Fame  was  not  watchful  nor  even  suspicious. 
Besides,  she  was  full  of  her  own  interesting  af 
fairs,  and  just  at  present  a  little  proud  of  her  own 
importance.  Gillian  told  her  she  was  the  most 
bewitching  woman  in  the  world,  and  she  was  in 
clined  to  believe  Gillian.  Her  father  petted  and 
blessed  her,  and  Lady  Grant  had  sent  her  a  very 
valuable  ring  and  a  message  of  love  and  welcome. 
She  was  going  to  triumph  over  Shaw  and  all  her 
acquaintances;  perhaps,  indeed,  a  little  bit  over 
Flora.  For  though  Flora  was  her  chief  friend,  be 
ing  engaged  makes  a  difference  in  a  girl's  friend 
ships;  the  engaged  girl  assuming  tacitly,  either  of 
right  or  custom,  a  superiority  over  the  girls  not 
yet  bespoken. 

So  Fame  was  not  mindful  of  Flora's  feelings; 
she  had  during  the  last  two  weeks  began  to  think 
of  things  only  as  they  affected  herself ;  and  when 
she  spoke  of  Alan  and  being  in  love  with  him,  she 
never  took  Flora  into  her  consideration.  Having 
made  her  confession,  "I  was  very  much  in  love 
with  Alan  for  a  little  while,"  etc.,  she  stooped  for 
ward  and  replaced  a  log  that  had  fallen,  and  then 
looked  at  Flora  for  her  answer  to  it. 

And  by  this  time  Flora  stood  guard  over  her 
self ;  whatever  was  yet  to  be  told  her  she  would 
hear  to  the  last  word ;  her  mouth  was  closed  and  a 


Fame  Makes  a  Confession       271 

little  stern,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed  intently  on  the 
fire ;  but  Fame  took  these  signs  as  indicative  either 
of  a  doubt  as  to  her  exact  truthfulness  or  else  of 
disapproval,  perhaps  of  contempt.  She  was  a  lit 
tle  offended,  and  she  said  plainly : 

"You  need  not  look  as  if  you  did  not  believe 
me,  Flora;  I  was  in  love  with  Alan,  and  more, 
Alan  was  in  love  with  me — is  yet,  for  that  matter. 
He  wanted  to  say  sweet  things  to  me  an  hour  ago 
as  we  came  through  the  wood,  but  I  would  not  let 
him." 

"It  was  wrong  of  Alan.  He  knew  you  were 
engaged,  I  suppose." 

"Father  was  sure  to  tell  him  this  morning;  they 
were  a  long  time  together;  however,  Alan  has  a 
good  opinion  of  himself." 

"Has  he?" 

"You  talk  as  if  you  did  not  care  about  things ; 
and  I  am  sure  you  know  that  men  never  can  and 
never  will  believe  they  have  lost  their  influence 
over  a  girl  they  once  have  influenced.  Then  they 
get  the  habit  of  saying  nice  things,  and  they  say 
them,  even  if  they  don't  want  to  say  them." 

"Do  you  think  Alan  does  that  ?" 

"I  am  certainly  thinking  so.  He  imagined  I 
was  expecting  him  to  say  sweet  things  this  morn 
ing.  I  was  not ;  I  very  soon  made  him  feel,  'No 
thank  you,  sir.' ' 


272  Souls  of  Passage 

"But  I  don't  think  I  understand  you  properly, 
Fame.  Do  you  mean  me  to  infer  that  Alan  has 
been  accustomed  to  say  sweet  things  to  you?" 

"I  am  not  meaning  you  to  'infer'  anything  about 
it.  I  am  telling  you  plain  and  straight  that  Alan  has 
been  making  love  to  me  ever  since  that  night  we 
walked  in  the  garden  and  you  would  not  go  with 
us;  that  night  when  Shaw  insisted  on  me  going 
home  with  him  and  I  would  not  go." 

"I  remember — it  was  just  after  Shaw  had  said 
you  were  engaged  to  him." 

"Yes." 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  this  before,  Fame  ?" 

"Well,  it  is  my  nature  to  like  a  secret,  and  it 
seemed  also  to  be  Alan's.  Then  we  were  all 
tongue-tied  by  Jessie's  affairs.  I  was,  however, 
often  on  the  point  of  telling  you,  but  if  ever  I  did 
turn  the  conversation  to  Alan  you  always  grew 
silent  and  indifferent.  You  never  would  talk  of 
him,  and  sometimes  I  thought  you  did  not  like 
him,  and  sometimes  I  thought  perhaps  you  liked 
him  too  much." 

"Too  much?    Oh,  no!" 

"I  mean  that  you  liked  him  more  than  he  liked 
you ;  and  that  you  felt  this — dear  Flora,  I  hardly 
know  how  to  express  my  meaning,  but  indeed  it  is 
only  a  kind  one." 

"I  know.    It  is  my  fault,  I  dare  say." 

"You  see,  Flora,  Gillian  appeared  then  to  be 


Fame  Makes  a  Confession       273 

such  a  failure  in  love,  and  Shaw  was  a  failure  of 
another  kind,  and  I  did  not  want  to  talk  about 
Alan  until  I  was  sure  he  was  also  not  going  to  be 
a  failure.  I  am  glad  now  that  I  was  keeping  my 
own  counsel,  for  Alan  was,  after  all,  but  a  half- 
and-half  kind  of  a  lover.  You  can  see  yourself  he 
never  made  the  slightest  effort  to  dispute  Gillian's 
claim  on  me.  I  wonder  you  noticed  nothing,  for 
Jessie  told  me  several  times  not  to  be  minding  a 
word  Alan  said  to  me ;  and  once  Mrs.  Mackenzie 
looked  very  queerly  at  me  and  said,  'You'll  be  re 
quiring  to  take  care  what  way  you're  stepping, 
Miss  Macrae;  one  thing  leads  to  another,  and 
especially  one  kiss  to  another.'  And  I  knew  then 
that  she  had  seen  Alan  kiss  me,  and  that  she  was 
putting  this  and  that  together." 

"Poor  Alan !    Has  he  quite  lost  your  favor?" 

"I  am  not  angry  at  him  at  all.  I  like  him.  He 
can't  help  making  love.  I  used  to  wonder  if  he 
was  not  making  love  to  you  whenever  I  was  away 
from  Dunbrack." 

"You  need  not  have  wondered  for  an  instant. 
If  you  had  asked  me,  I  should  certainly  have  told 
you  the  truth." 

"Somehow,  one  expects  nothing  positive  from 
Alan.  But  you  can  never  be  angry  with  him.  I 
shall  invite  him  to  my  wedding.  He  will  come 
and  be  the  merriest  of  all  the  guests." 

"I  suppose    he 'will.     Fame,  do  you    feel  this 


274  Souls  of  Passage 

room  very  hot  ?  I  have  a  sick  headache.  Is  it  the 
fire  ?  Please  open  the  window.  I  hope  I — am  not 
— going  to  be  ill — "  and  she  moved  unsteadily 
toward  the  bed,  and  slipped  down  prone  and  faint 
among  its  pillows. 

"Flora !  Flora !  What  is  the  matter  ?" 
"Nothing — nothing  at  all — wait  a  little." 
In  a  few  minutes  she  asked  Fame  to  go  and 
make  her  a  cup  of  tea,  and  Fame  went  eagerly 
about  it.  Then  the  poor,  heartbroken  girl  wrung 
her  hands  and  moaned  like  a  creature  in  mortal 
pain.  And  yet  she  knew  that  she  must  not  now 
fail  herself ;  she  must  rally  all  her  forces  and  bear 
Fame's  chatter  to  the  last  moment;  for  the  one 
intolerable  thing  would  be  to  have  Fame — to  have 
any  one — know  of  her  lover's  unfaithfulness  to 
her. 

Fortunately  Fame  did  not  stay  very  much 
longer;  as  soon  as  she  saw  Flora  recovering  she 
proposed  sleep  as  the  best  restorative,  and  Flora 
eagerly  accepted  her  advice.  This  arrangement 
gave  her  a  few  hours  of  solitude,  and  it  is  in  soli 
tude  and  in  the  secret  haunts  of  the  spirit  that  the 
healing  springs  take  their  rise.  Alone  she  found 
them  out,  and  when  dinner  time  came  she  was  not 
only  able  to  face  Alan,  but  was  quite  sure  in  her 
own  mind  of  the  course  she  ought  to  take.  It  was 
a  gloomy  meal,  which  no  one  seemed  to  enjoy. 
Mrs.  Mackenzie  was  tired  and  a  little  fretful.  So 


Fame  Makes  a  Confession       275 

many  things  had  not  happened  as  she  had  ex 
pected  them  to  happen;  and  the  household  cares 
had  worn  her  nervously  out.  She  excused  herself 
as  soon  as  the  meal  was  over,  and  leaving  Thrift 
in  charge  of  the  final  arrangements,  went  to  her 
room. 

"You  look  so  tired,  mother,"  said  Alan,  "and  I 
am  thinking  this  moving  house  twice  a  year  is  a 
bad  thing." 

"There  will  be  a  good  as  well  as  a  bad  side  to 
everything,  Alan ;  the  great  point  is  to  find  it  out. 
And,  Flora,  you  be  to  remember  the  feckless  feel 
ing  you  had  this  afternoon,  and  give  yourself  a 
good  sleep." 

"I  will,"  she  answered  pleasantly.  "I  shall  be 
all  right  in  the  morning." 

Alan  was  smoking  comfortably  by  the  fireside, 
and  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Mackenzie  had  said  her  final 
"good-night"  he  rose  and  pushed  his  chair  beside 
Flora.  She  did  not  oppose  this  advance,  but  when 
he  would  have  taken  her  hand,  she  said : 

"Alan,  I  have  something  to  tell  you — some 
thing  to  ask  you.  Understand  that  I  shall  take 
your  word  before  the  word  of  any  other  person. 
You  have  been  accused  to  me;  if  you  deny  the 
accusation  I.  shall  accept  your  denial  as  the  truth 
and  act  in  accord  with  it.  If  you  are  guilty,  I 
think  you  have  so  much  honor  as  to  say  so.  Fame 
told  me  this  afternoon  that  you  have  been  making 


276  Souls  of  Passage 

love  to  her.    Did  she  speak  the  truth  or  was  it  only 
a  little  bit  of  Fame's  vanity  ?    Tell  me,  Alan." 

Then  Alan  threw  his  cigar  into  the  fire,  and  his 
face  flushed  till  it  was  hot  and  red  as  flame.  He 
hesitated,  for  nothing  but  the  truth  would  come  to 
his  mind;  and  the  truth  was  so  hard  to  tell.  In 
fact,  he  remained  silent  so  long  that  Flora  said  sor 
rowfully  : 

"I  see — it  is  the  truth.    Oh,  Alan !  Alan !" 

"Flora !  dear  Flora !  it  is  the  truth,  and  yet  it  is 
not  the  truth.  There  is  only  one  truth  in  this  mat 
ter,  and  that  is  that  never  have  I  ceased  to  love  you 
for  a  moment  since  you  promised  to  be  my  wife. 
I  cannot  excuse  myself;  if  you  cannot  imagine 
and  allow  for  my  temptation  there  is  no  one  else 
to  plead  for  me.  I  have  been  weak,  but  not  false. 
Oh,  no,  not  false  to  you.  You  pleaded  with  father 
for  me,  now  plead  with  your  own  heart  for  me." 

"I  have  done  so.  I  acknowledge  that  I  also  am 
to  blame.  When  you  wished  to  make  public  our 
love  and  our  engagement,  I  would  not  let  you  do 
so.  I  might  have  known  that  a  concealed  love 
breeds  sorrow  or  wrong  of  some  kind.  If  our  love 
had  been  known  Fame  would  never  have  tempted 
you  with  those  bewitching  ways  that  subjugate 
men  so  readily — I  have  watched  her  with  Grant — 
and  I  can  understand  the  influence  and  glamour 
she  threw  over  you.  I  am  not  blaming  Fame ;  she 
did  not  know  how  far  she  was  wronging  me." 


Fame  Makes  a  Confession       277 

"When  she  was  present." 

"Yes,  I  know.  I  have  thought  of  these  things, 
Alan ;  and,  as  I  told  you,  I  blame  myself  most  of 
all.  But  you  are  going  to  London,  and  you  will 
meet  many  beautiful  girls;  and  I  will  not  be  any 
hindrance  to  your  freest  choice.  I  give  you  back 
your  promise  in  its  fullest  sense.  I  do  not  wish  to 
be  kept  in  your  heart  by  simply  shutting  me  in 
there.  As  I  have  not  had  the  power  to  bind  your 
wandering  fancy,  it  is  likely  we  have  made  a  mis 
take  and  I  am  not  the  woman  you  ought  to  marry. 
Give  yourself  the  freedom  to  find  this  out ;  and  if 
at  the  end  of  two  years  you  can  come  honestly  to 
me  and  say,  'I  love  you  better  than  any  woman  in 
the  world,  and  I  feel  that  I  can  love  you  for  life 
and  for  death,  for  weal  and  for  woe,'  then  I  will 
never  doubt  you  more.  I  will  be  yours  forever." 

"It  is  a  hard  sentence,  Flora,  but  I  deserve  it — 
and  I  will  come  at  the  end  of  it  and  say  I  love 
you." 

"Then  all  shall  be  as  it  was.  In  the  meantime 
the  world  must  not  see  any  change  in  our  relation 
ship  to  each  other.  Your  father  knows  I  love  you, 
but  it  is  a  secret  in  his  own  breast;  your  mother 
and  Jessie  may  suppose  it;  Fame  does  not  even 
suspect  it.  I  do  not  think  our  love  should  be  the 
subject  of  either  pity  or  sympathy  or  intercession." 

"You  will  forget  me.  You  will  take  your  love 
from  me.  I  shall  be  the  most  forsaken  of  men." 


278  Souls  of  Passage 

"I  will  not  forget  you.  I  will  never  take  my 
love  from  you.  The  promise  I  made  you  will 
stand  while  moons  rise  and  set  and  waters  run  to 
the  sea." 

"With  this  promise  I  can  bear  all  and  conquer 
all." 

And  she  really  did  trust  in  him.  Taking  into  her 
consideration  the  concealment  of  their  love  as  the 
first  wrong  step,  she  understood  how  easily  this 
concealment  had  bred  temptation,  and  how  potent 
a  temptation  Fame  must  have  been.  Nor  did  she 
underestimate  the  pride  of  rivalling  Shaw,  and  of 
winning  from  him  the  girl  he  had  so  falsely 
claimed.  She  saw  also,  when  she  looked  back  over 
the  past  summer,  that  she  herself  had  often 
thrown  her  lover  into  temptation,  and  she  felt 
compelled  to  confess  to  her  own  heart,  "I  am  not 
innocent." 

And  with  this  self-accusation  there  came  for  her 
lover  pity,  and  love,  and  faith,  and  finally  a  glow 
of  pride  in  him,  as  she  reminded  herself  that  not 
even  for  her  love  had  he  lied;  and  that  further 
more  he  had  taken  his  guilt  on  his  own  shoulders 
and  scorned  to  blame  Fame,  or  in  any  way  to 
screen  or  excuse  his  wrong-doing  under  the 
ancient  plea  of  the  man — "The  woman  beguiled 
me."  And  there  was  hope,  invincible  hope,  in 
these  reflections;  they  robbed  wrong  and  disap- 


Fame  Makes  a  Confession       279 

pointment  of  all   their  bitterness,   and   she  fell 
asleep  smiling  to  the  song  they  sang  to  her. 

And  into  Alan's  shame  and  sorrow  she  infused 
the  same  strong  hope  for  the  future,  and  he  left 
her  presence  full  of  those  noble  determinations 
which  can  say  courageously  and  with  inviolate 
purpose, 

"Yet  though  no  light  be  left,  nor  bird  now  sing 
As  here  I  turn,  I'll  thank  God,  hastening, 
That  the  same  goal  is  still  on  the  same  track." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

FAME   IS    MARRIED. 

IN  a  short  time  the  provost's  family  were  again 
settled  in  their  Glasgow  home.  And  Mrs.  Mac 
kenzie  was  specially  happy  in  this  return  to  what 
she  called  "regular  civilized  life."  Her  large, 
lofty  rooms,  with  their  splendidly  solid  furniture, 
and  the  gleaming  of  the  coal  fires  on  the  bright 
steel  hearths,  on  the  Russian  leather  and  crimson 
damask,  and  dark  oak  or  rosewood,  filled  her  heart 
with  the  atmosphere  and  sense  of  home.  And  she 
looked  and  spoke  as  the  very  genius  of  the  place 
should  do.  The  Glasgow  air  and  the  Glasgow 
manner  was  in  all  her  ways  and  speech,  she 
held  herself  with  more  dignity,  feeling  that  here — 
with  the  great  lamps  bearing  the  city's  arms  be 
fore  her  fine  doorsteps  and  the  ladies  of  the 
municipality  paying  her  homage — she  was  in  very 
deed  the  wife  of  Robert  Mackenzie,  provost  of  the 
great  city  of  Glasgow. 

Still,  there  was  a  woful  sense  of  Alan's  absence 
through  the  stately  dwelling.  She  had  often 


Fame  is  Married  281 

grumbled  at  his  careless,  hasty  ways,  at  his  habit 
of  "tossing  up"  tidy  rooms,  at  his  noisy  steps,  his 
singing  and  whistling,  his  irregular  hours  and  his 
late  rising,  but  oh,  how  glad  she  would  have  felt 
had  these  trials  not  been  taken  from  her!  She 
constantly  worried  her  husband  to  bring  them 
back. 

"I'm  not  caring  for  anything  now,  Robert. 
Alan  is  away  and  the  town  is  empty  to  me,  and  the 
house  is  like  Sunday  from  week's  end  to  week's 
end.  Bring  the  lad  home  again.  What  for  are 
you  banishing  him  to  a  town  like  London  in  the 
very  winter,  with  fogs  thicker  than  your  morning 
porridge,  and  folks  that  are  all  stranger  folks  to 
him  ?  What  has  the  lad  done  to  be  served  in  such 
a  like  way?" 

"Alan  is  very  happy  in  London.  I  had  a  good 
letter  from  him  this  morning.  There  it  is;  read 
it." 

"I  will  not.  I  don't  want  to  read  letters  from 
him.  I  want  my  lad  himself;  and  Flora  may 
laugh  and  sing  as  much  as  she  likes,  I  am  know 
ing  well  she  is  wanting  him  also.  The  very  ser 
vants  are  missing  him,  and  asking,  'When  is  Mr. 
Alan  coming  back?'  And  I  am  not  going  to  be 
surprised  if  Ann  Fife  throws  up  her  place  alto 
gether  ;  for  she  says  there  is  no  pleasure  in  cooking 
anything  now  that  Mr.  Alan  is  not  here  either  to 
praise  or  ban  it ;  for  it  is  well  known  to  Ann  that 


282  Souls  of  Passage 

you  havena  any  more  skill  than  a  baby  about  a 
meal's  meat." 

"I  will  give  her  a  shilling  now  and  then;  that 
will  do  as  well  as  Alan's  praise  or  banning." 

"And  what  will  you  give  to  Flora?  You  can't 
offer  her  money,  and  the  lassie  is  pining,  or  I 
am  no  judge  of  love-sick  women." 

"You  are  all  wrong,  Marian.  Flora  is  not  the 
girl  to  pine  after  any  man." 

"Provost,  when  you  are  densely  ignorant  on  a 
subject  I  would  keep  whist  on  it;  and  you  are 
simply  an  ignoramus  anent  love  and  women. 
Flora  is  fretting  for  Alan.  You  may  take  my 
word  or  leave  it,  but  you  can't  make  it  anything 
but  a  true  word." 

"Well,  then,  you  must  all  of  you  take  a  few 
months'  fretting — you,  and  Flora,  and  the  huzzies 
in  the  kitchen  likewise.  Alan  has  gone  to  London 
for  a  year,  and  he  is  going  to  stay  in  London  for 
a  year — or  there  will  be  changes  not  yet  thought 
of.  Give  some  new  dresses  in  the  kitchen,  and  I 
dare  say  Gilbert  Stuart  will  soon  take  Flora's 
mind  off  Alan  Mackenzie." 

"Provost!  provost!  Gilbert  Stuart  put  our 
Alan  to  the  wall !  Not  he  nor  twenty  like  him.  It 
passes  all  believing." 

"What  passes  all  believing?" 

"The  stupendous    foolishness  of   a  wise  man 


Fame  is  Married  283 

meddling  with  things  he  knows  nothing  about.  I 
want  you  to  bring  Alan  home  again." 

"I'll  not  do  it,  Marian.  Where  is  Jessie?  One 
would  think  you  had  neither  chick  nor  child  left 
you." 

"I  have  not.  Jessie's  married.  Is  there  any 
occasion  to  specify  more  reasons?  That  takes  in 
all  and  sundry.  Jessie  is  so  set  up  with  her  hus 
band  and  her  house  she  has  clean  forgotten  she 
ever  had  a  mother  or  a  home." 

"She  will  get  over  that." 

"I'm  not  looking  for  things  impossible,  provost. 
I  have  heard  what  other  mothers  say.  I  thought  7 
was  to  be  the  exception  to  the  rule;  all  mothers 
think  that,  and  all  of  them  get  the  buff  and  the 
buffet  alike.  If  it  wasna  that  mothers  are  prom 
ised  salvation  for  child-bearing,  who  would  be  a 
mother?  There  would  be  no  earthly  compensa 
tion  for  the  pain,  and  the  care,  and  the  cast-away 
love." 

"Tut,  tut,  Marian!  Jessie  is  happy.  Let  that 
content  you." 

"It  is  gey  hard  for  a  mother  to  reach  that 
height,  Robert.  I  want  Alan  back." 

"Alan  will  marry,  too,  some  day." 

"Say  that.  I  am  not  doubting  it,  neither  am  I 
doubting  he  will  always  be  mother's  boy.  That  is 
the  differ.  A  girl  is  weak,  and  she  lets  he.r  bus- 


284  Souls  of  Passage 

band  absorb  her  whole  nature;  a  girl  is  never  just, 
she  gives  all  to  the  feeling  that  pleases  her  most ; 
but  a  man  is  just,  first  of  all ;  he  never  forgets  the 
mother  that  bore  him  and  nursed  him  at  her 
breast;  if  she  be  a  good  mother,  she  will  be 
'mother'  to  his  last  moment.  And  a  man  is 
stronger  than  a  woman ;  it  is  very  seldom  he  lets 
any  woman  make  him  over  to  please  herself.  You 
have  not  let  me  do  that  to  you,  Robert,  not  by  a 
long  heft ;  and  though  Alan  is  weaker  than  you,  he 
is  strong  enough  to  rob  neither  wife  nor  mother, 
no,  nor  yet  father  of  the  love  due  them.  I  want 
you  to  bring  Alan  back  to  me." 

"Well,  well,  in  good  time — in  good  time." 

"No  time  but  now  is  a  good  time.  I  want  him 
home  for  the  New  Year." 

"He  cannot  come.  That  is  enough  said,  and  I 
have  not  another  word  on  the  subject." 

Then  the  anxious  mother  went  to  Flora.  Flora 
was  always  ready  to  talk  about  Alan,  and  his 
mother's  longings  were  never  tiresome  to  her. 
For  she  was  really  fretting  about  her  lover.  Very 
grave  doubts  as  to  the  wisdom  of  his  father's 
course,  and  also  of  her  own  course,  constantly  as 
sailed  her.  The  divine  Son  of  Man  had  dictated 
the  very  opposite  way.  He  had  judged  it  best  for 
the  weak  not  to  be  thrown  into  the  way  of  tempta 
tion  ;  and  Alan  had  been,  as  it  were,  set  in  the  very 


Fame  is  Married  285 

midst  of  circumstances  requiring  the  strongest 
will  and  the  most  rigid  self-discipline.  Was  it 
fair  ?  Was  it  kind  ?  If  he  fell,  whose  fault  would 
it  be?  Would  his  father,  would  she  herself  be 
innocent?  So  often  she  had  heard  Ian  Macrae 
say  that  beautiful,  weak  souls  were  sent  to  the 
homes  and  households  of  strength  that  they  might 
be  helped  upward,  steadied,  and  guided,  borne 
with,  and  forgiven  even  until  seventy  times  seven ; 
making  invincible,  never-failing  love  their  con 
stant  creditor ;  so  that  by  all  means  they  might  not 
fail  to  "buy  the  truth"  or  the  special  virtue  they 
had  been  sent  to  purchase.  And  they  had  sent 
Alan  out  from  them,  alone  into  the  market-places 
of  Vanity  Fair,  and  told  him  he  was  there  to  ob 
tain  the  very  virtues  in  which  it  was  notoriously 
wanting. 

Indulging  such  thoughts  and  regrets,  it  was 
natural  for  Flora  to  come  gradually  more  and 
more  into  sympathy  with  Alan's  mother;  and 
equally  natural  that  this  community  of  feeling  was 
the  very  soil  necessary  for  a  sincere  affection  to 
root  and  grow  in.  So  that  day  by  day  Flora 
became  dearer  and  dearer  to  Mrs.  Mackenzie, 
more  necessary  to  her  happiness,  and  more  pleas 
ant  in  her  sight.  Jessie  had  always  been  just  and 
moderately  affectionate  to  her;  and  her  marriage 
made  no  visible  difference  in  their  friendship.  She 
returned  from  her  bridal  journey  soon  after  the 


286  Souls  of  Passage 

provost's  family  were  settled  in  their  Glasgow 
home,  and  no  one  could  deny  that  she  scrupulously 
paid  the  anise  and  cummin  of  a  daughter's  duty  as 
she  conceived  it.  Every  fine  day  she  visited  her 
mother,  and  if  she  showed  any  want  of  sympathy 
in  her  old  home  and  relations,  she  was  not  herself 
conscious  of  it.  She  had  always  objected  to  Alan's 
residence  in  London,  and  she  was  naturally 
pleased  that  her  mother  and  Flora  had  realized  the 
wisdom  of  her  objections. 

"James  disapproved  of  the  plan  from  the  first," 
she  said  one  day  when  they  were  talking  of  the 
matter;  "and  James  is  seldom  wrong;  he  has  a 
native  sagacity  about  things  that  is  not  easily 
equalled." 

"We  all  know  that  James  is  infallible,  Jessie," 
answered  Mrs.  Mackenzie,  "but  I  am  thinking 
James  never  rightly  knew  Alan.  And  a  man  can 
not  advise  where  he  does  not  know." 

"On  general  principles  he  can,  mother;  and  on 
general  principles  it  is  unwise  to  go  into  tempta 
tion.  I  was  saying  to  James  this  morning  mother, 
what  a  grand  thing  and  what  a  proper  thing  it 
would  be  if  you  could  persuade  father  to  come  and 
'sit  under'  James.  It  would  just  be  the  making  of 
St.  John's  Kirk." 

"Jessie  Laidlaw,  I  am  astonished  at  you," 
answered  Mrs.  Mackenzie  with  some  anger.  "My 
grandfather  and  grandmother,  my  father  and  my 


Fame  is  Married  287 

mother  also,  sat  in  the  old  Ram's  Horn  Kirk;  I 
was  baptized  in  it ;  I  was  married  in  it ;  Alan  and 
yourself  were  baptized  in  it,  and  I  and  your  father 
have  sat  under  Dr.  Micklehose  for  twenty-nine 
years.  Do  you  think  I  will  leave  my  kirk  and  my 
minister  at  this  hour  of  my  life?  You  be  to  re 
member,  Jessie,  all  that  my  kirk  is  to  me." 

"It  seems,  at  least,  to  be  more  to  you  than 
your  daughter,"  said  Jessie  in  a  tone  of  sad  re 
proach. 

"Well,  well,  it  seems  that  James  Laidlaw  was 
more  to  you  than  your  mother,"  was  the  answer 
with  an  equal  tone  of  reproach. 

"Suppose,  aunt,"  said  Flora,  with  apparent  un 
consciousness  of  the  little  tiff,  "suppose  you 
invited  the  first  sewing  circle  to  your  house. 
James  could  announce  it  next  Sabbath." 

"That  would  be  a  very  good  thing,  Flora,"  said 
Jessie.  "  'The  first  sewing  circle  of  the  season 
will  meet  at  Provost  Mackenzie's  such  a  date,'  and 
so  on.  What  do  you  say,  mother  ?  It  would  make 
quite  a  stir  in  our  kirk." 

"If  it  pleasures  you,  Jessie,  you  be  to  have  your 
way,  my  dear.  We  have  been  wanting  to  ask  Dr. 
Livingston  to  the  house,  and  he  might  give  us  his 
famous  lecture  in  the  evening  about  Asia  Minor. 
Mrs.  MacLaren  was  saying  it  had  a  wealth  of  fine 
poetry  in  it ;  and  he  is  a  very  popular  young  man 
just  now." 


288  Souls  of  Passage 

"Mother,  that  would  be  a  splendid  thing!  Can 
James  speak  of  it  next  Sabbath  Day  ?" 

"I  see  nothing  to  hinder." 

"James  will  be  so  gratified,  and  the  ladies  of 
St.  John's  will  be  proud,  indeed,  to  have  an  in 
vite  into  the  provost's  house.  It  is  real  good  of 
you,  mother,  and  I  am  sure  it  will  be  a  precious 
time." 

"I  wish  Alan  was  here.  As  to  poetry,  there's 
few  can  recite  as  he  can.  The  dear  lad !" 

"I  wish  he  was  here,"  said  Jessie.  "It  is  per 
fectly  ridiculous  of  father  sending  him  to  Eng 
land.  What  will  he  learn  there  worth  the  learn 
ing  ?  I  only  hope  he  does  not  come  back  an  Epis 
copalian.  James  thinks  he  is  in  great  danger  be 
cause  of  his  sensuous  nature ;  he  says  he  is  not  the 
young  man  to  be  allowed  fire  to  play  with." 

"Your  father  knows  well  what  he  is  doing, 
Jessie.  It  is  not  many  people  that  would  find 
Provost  Mackenzie  'perfectly  ridic'lous,'  and 
Alan  is  no  fool.  If  there  is  fire  in  his  road  he  will 
be  knowing  enough  to  keep  out  of  the  draught  of 
the  blaze.  Neither  you  nor  James  need  to  spend 
an  anxious  hour  for  Alan;  his  mother's  prayers 
will  be  aye  building  a  wall  between  him  and  all 
danger." 

"I  saw  a  notice  of  James's  Sabbath  sermon  in 
the  North  Briton,"  said  Flora,  and  Jessie  was  glad 
of  the  interruption.  It  gave  her  an  opportunity 


Fame  is  Married  289 

to  get  out  of  a  dilemma  with  a  little  flourish  of 
trumpets  for  her  husband;  and  so  home  with  the 
good  news  about  the  sewing  circle. 

In  such  occupations  and  society  the  first  weeks 
of  the  winter  passed.  The  provost  was  smiling 
and  happy,  and  often  dropped  remarks  specially 
intended  to  satisfy  Flora  concerning  Alan,  with 
out  drawing  attention  to  that  fact;  and  now  and 
then,  meeting  her  alone  in  the  halls  or  the  parlors, 
he  would  say,  "Alan  sends  more  than  a  month's 
messages,  dear.  He  is  well  and  doing  well.  A 
good  boy,  my  dear !"  And  they  would  smile  into 
each  other's  eyes  and  pass  on,  both  of  them  pleased 
and  comforted. 

One  morning  shortly  before  Christmas  a  letter 
arrived  from  Morandaroch  announcing  the  near 
arrival  of  Fame  and  her  father.  It  must  be  con 
fessed  that  it  gave  Flora  no  pleasure.  In  fact,  she 
had  begun  to  doubt  and  dislike  Fame;  and  these 
are  feelings  that  grow  with  little  to  sustain  them. 
Try  as  she  would,  she  could  not  believe  that  Fame 
had  been  absolutely  ignorant  of  the  relationship 
between  herself  and  Alan.  A  girl  so  clever  and 
observant  must  have  noticed  many  little  things 
which  could  hardly  fail  to  arouse,  at  least,  sus 
picion.  It  was  true  Fame  had  never  made  the 
slightest  allusion  to  this  suspicion,  but  Flora  did 
not  consider  this  reticence  a  point  in  her  favor. 
"She  wished  to  be  thought  ignorant  in  order  to 


290  Souls  of  Passage 

excuse  herself  if  the  affair  was  discovered  under 
unfortunate  circumstances." 

This  was  the  decision  Flora  came  to,  and  she 
reflected  also  that  it  was  not  until  Grant  appeared 
Fame  played  the  role  of  confidence  in  her.  Grant 
was  the  more  desirable  lover,  and  so  she  threw 
over  Alan  and  made  her  confession.  And  Flora 
thought  the  confession  a  bit  of  unnecessary  treach 
ery  to  Alan.  There  was  no  need  to  make  it, 
except  the  personal  need  of  exalting  her  own 
charm  over  men,  and  the  still  more  dubious  one 
of  wounding  her  through  Alan.  Yes,  she  came  at 
last  to  believe  that  Fame  had  designedly  told  her 
of  Alan's  lapse  out  of  a  spirit  entirely  mean  and 
envious. 

Her  letter,  therefore,  was  not  welcome.  She 
felt  all  the  triumph  of  its  tone.  It  really  read  thus 
to  her:  "Alan  has  gone  to  London  because  he 
could  not  bear  to  meet  me  with  Grant.  He  could 
not  bear  to  see  me  married  'to  another' — and  am 
I  not  going  to  make  a  splendid  alliance?  and  do 
you  not  wish  you  were  equally  fortunate?  and 
surely  I  am  a  little  sorry  for  you!"  Something 
like  these  ideas  ran  through  Flora's  mind  all  the 
time  she  was  reading  the  gay,  boastful  little  letter. 

"How  soon  are  they  coming,  Flora?"  asked 
Mrs.  Mackenzie. 

"In  three  days." 

"When  is  Fame  to  be  married  ?" 


Fame  is  Married  291 

"In  April.  Then  they  are  going  to  France, 
Germany,  Italy,  Greece,  Palestine — perhaps,  in 
deed,  to  the  North  Pole.  Fame  has  the  world  at 
her  feet,  and  is  inclined  to  send  it  spinning." 

"I  am  glad  Alan  never  fancied  the  lassie.  She 
is  a  dangerous  bit  of  beauty.  She  will  rule  or  rate 
any  man." 

"I  thought  Alan  admired  her  very  much." 

"So  he  did,  but  admiration  is  not  love.  No,  in 
deed!  Thank  God  for  the  same.  Alan  admired 
Kitty  Derenzy,  and  to  my  certain  knowledge — 
though  I  never  said  a  word  about  it — he  went 
night  after  night  to  Glover's  Theatre  to  see  her 
dance;  but  as  for  loving  the  lassie  and  wanting 
to  take  her  into  his  home  and  heart,  I  don't  believe 
he  ever  thought  of  such  a  thing.  There  were  sun 
dry  others.  I  never  bothered  myself  about  them. 
I  would  be  almost  ready  to  say  that  the  lad  had 
some  pure,  true  love  that  keepit  the  door  of  his 
heart  against  all  pretenders." 

However,  when  Fame  really  came  in  person  she 
put  aside  all  doubts  and  dislikes.  She  was  so  full 
of  life  and  love  and  hope  and  joy  that  her  presence 
was  contagious;  people  caught  her  spirit  and 
helped  her,  and  admired  her,  and  whether  they  ap 
proved  or  not,  gave  her  not  only  their  sympathy, 
but  their  active  personal  assistance. 

So  the  dark,  dismal  days  of  winter  went  merrily 
enough.  The  provost  was  a  great  deal  with  his 


292  Souls  of  Passage 

friend,  and  Fame  was  a  great  deal  at  the  provost's. 
And  when  young  Grant  arrived  on  the  scene  it 
required  all  the  influence  of  the  Mackenzies  to 
keep  events  in  a  reasonable  groove.  But  at  length 
the  great  day,  to  which  all  the  days  for  many 
months  had  come  and  gone,  arrived,  and  the 
church  of  St.  Mary's  was  filled  with  a  fashionable 
crowd  to  witness  the  transformation  of  Miss 
Euphamia  Macrae  into  Mrs.  Gillian  Grant.  And 
she  was  so  lovely  in  her  bride  gown,  and  Grant 
was  so  happy  and  so  manly,  and  Sir  Archibald 
Grant  and  Lady  Grant  so  proud  of  their  handsome 
daughter-in-law,  that  the  whole  audience  caught 
fire  from  their  enthusiasm.  Never  had  St.  Mary's 
been  so  full  of  that  joyous  feeling  which  is  the 
result  of  a  happy  multitude — its  rustling  of  fine 
dresses,  its  movements  of  pleasure,  its  soft  sighs 
and  whispers  and  almost  inaudible  laughter — and 
never  had  the  rapture  and  beauty  of  bride  and 
groom  seemed  more  worthy  of  the  sympathy  and 
congratulation  they  received.  The  wedding 
breakfast  was  given  at  the  provost's  house,  and 
then  the  newly  married  pair  went  off  to  France, 
Spain,  Germany,  Greece,  etc. — sure  of  one  thing, 
however,  that  whatever  the  world  called  the  place 
of  their  abiding,  they  knew  it  as  Paradise. 

Of  course  Alan  had  been  invited  to  the  wed 
ding,  but  he  had  not  been  present ;  and  when  the 


Fame  is  Married  293 

stir  and  excitement  of  Fame's  marriage  were  over 
Flora  felt  a  want  and  loneliness  that  was  indescrib 
able.  One  wet,  dripping  day,  when  all  outside 
and  inside  was  doleful  and  depressing,  she  met  the 
provost  in  the  hall.  He  was  looking  for  his  um 
brella,  and  she  went  to  help  him.  Something 
lonely  in  his  face  touched  her  keenly,  and  she 
asked  softly  as  she  put  it  into  his  hand : 

"Must  he  stay  longer  away,  uncle?" 

"Yes,  my  dear." 

"I  want  to  see  him." 

"So  do  I." 

"It  is  my  birthday  next  Tuesday.  He  could  get 
here." 

"No,  no,  he  must  thole  it  out." 

But  that  night  the  provost,  when  he  gathered 
his  family  for  the  evening  exercise,  passed  by  the 
chapter  that  was  in  order,  and  said,  "We  will  read 
this  night  the  fourteenth  chapter  of  the  second  of 
Samuel  unto  the  fifteenth  verse.  She  knew,  then, 
that  the  father's  heart  was  turning  over  with 
abounding  love  the  thought  of  bringing  home  his 
banished  again;  and  when  he  clasped  her  hand 
that  night  it  was  as  if  his  heart  touched  her  heart, 
and  they  both  beat  together. 

A  few  days  after  this  confidence  the  provost 
asked  her  one  morning  to  call  at  his  office  about 
three  o'clock.  "I  want  you  to  come  alone,"  he 


294  Souls  of  Passage 

said.    "This  is  an  affair  relating  entirely  to  your 
self.    Come  by  yourself." 

"Very  well,"  she  answered ;  and  a  strange,  wild 
hope  concerning  Alan  haunted  her  heart  all  morn 
ing,  and  made  her  sing  she  knew  not  what  joyous 
snatches  of  old  and  new  melody.  About  three 
o'clock  Flora  stepped  into  Robert  Mackenzie's  of 
fice,  and  was  immediately  taken  to  his  private 
room.  There  were  two  other  gentlemen  with  him, 
and  Flora  was  a  little  astonished  to  find  one  of 
them  was  Mr.  Crawford,  her  lawyer  and  the  man 
ager  of  her  affairs.  The  other  stranger  she  had 
never  seen  before,  but  he  proved  to  be  the  chief 
partner  of  Lockhart  Brothers,  lawyers  in  the 
Canadian  city  of  Toronto.  She  was  a  little  afraid, 
and  her  thoughts  instantly  went  to  her  lover.  Had 
he  been  doing  something  wrong?  Was  her  help 
needed  ?  She  sat  down  sick  and  silent,  and  looked 
at  the  three  men  talking  and  exchanging  mys 
terious-looking  papers. 

The  provost  very  soon  explained  matters.  "My 
dear  Flora,"  he  said,  "you  passed  last  Tuesday  the 
age  your  father  fixed  for  your  majority.  These 
gentlemen  will  now  deliver  to  you  their  trust  of 
your  estates  in  England  and  in  Canada.  In 
Canada  your  property  has  nearly  doubled  its  value 
since  your  father  bought  it;  more  than  this  can 
be  said  of  his  Chicago  interests;  and  the  Eng 
lish  securities,  which  have  been  in  Mr.  Craw- 


Fame  is  Married  295 

ford's  hands,  are  all  at  par,  or  very  nearly  so. 
We  have  been  going  over  your  affairs  together, 
my  dear,  and  we  find  you  a  very  wealthy  young 
woman." 

She  sat  very  quiet  during  this  address,  trying 
to  collect  her  thoughts,  to  calm  her  excitement, 
and  not  suffer  any  one  to  see  that  sudden  accession 
to  great  wealth  threw  her  off  her  balance.  With 
respectful  attention  she  listened  to  what  Mr. 
Crawford  and  Mr.  Lockhart  had  to  say;  made  an 
appointment  to  meet  them  on  the  following  after 
noon  regarding  the  continuance  of  their  manage 
ment;  and  then  with  a  few  grateful  words  for 
their  honorable  care  of  her  interests  she  took 
leave  of  them.  They  were  astonished  at  her  wis 
dom  and  self-restraint. 

"I  expected  a  scene,"  said  Mr.  Lockhart,  "and 
she  made  no  more  ado  about  one  hundred 
thousand  pounds  than  if  I  had  been  handing  her  a 
bawbee.  I  expected  to  be  asked  the  why  and  the 
wherefore  of  this,  that,  and  the  other,  and  she  says 
naething  but  'Thank  you,  sir,  and  will  you  name 
an  hour  for  the  morrow?'  A  wonderful  lassie! 
She's  as  prudent  as  Angus  Dunbrack  himself,  and 
I  needna  say  mair  than  that.  It  implies  a'  things 
convenient — and  commendable." 

Just  as  soon,  however,  as  Flora  reached  the 
street  all  the  woman  in  her  asserted  itself.  She 
was  trembling  from  head  to  feet,  everything 


296  Souls  of  Passage 

seemed  to  waver  before  her  vision,  she  could  not 
walk,  she  could  hardly  realize  her  own  person 
ality.  She  wanted  most  of  all  sympathy,  and  who 
but  Alan's  mother  could  give  it  to  her?  But  in 
half  an  hour  she  was  at  home  with  her  happy 
news.  Mrs.  Mackenzie  was  in  her  room,  and 
when  Flora  hastily  entered  it  she  saw  her  sitting 
with  her  feet  on  the  fender,  softly  crying  to  her 
self. 

"Oh,  aunt!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  stooped  to 
kiss  her  face,  "oh,  aunt,  I  have  such  great  news 
to  tell  you !" 

"Is  Alan  coming  home?" 

"Yes,  aunt ;  I  have  been  to  see  my  trustees.  I 
am  of  age,  you  know,  and  I  find  that  I  am  very 
rich ;  and  what  can  I  do  with  my  money  but  marry 
Alan,  and  let  him  guide  it  for  me  ?" 

"My  dear  lassie !    Marry  Alan !" 

"Alan  and  I  have  been  engaged  nearly  a  year, 
and  now — and  now — I  am  going  to  ask  uncle  to 
send  for  him.  For,  aunt,  what  good  will  money 
do  me  without  Alan  ?" 

"You  dear,  dear  lassie!  Say  'mother'  to  me, 
and  I  will  take  you  into  my  heart  this  very  mo 
ment." 

And  Flora  said  "mother,"  and  they  sat  down  to 
gether,  and  talked  of  the  wonderful  thing  that  had 
come  to  her,  and  were  quite  forgetful  of  such  an 
interference  as  time  until  the  provost  came  for  his 


Fame  is  Married  297 

dinner,  and  found  Flora  still  sitting  with  her  hat 
on  her  head  and  her  hand  in  the  clasp  of  Alan's 
happy  mother. 

But  every  joy  must  have  its  shadow,  it  would 
want  substance  if  it  had  it  not;  and  the  shadow 
in  this  joy  was  the  provost's  fixed  determination 
not  to  call  Alan  home  at  once.  "He  is  in  the  very 
middle  of  a  large  business  transaction,"  he  said; 
"it  is  a  plan  of  his  own  conceiving  and  his  own 
management,  and  I  will  not  cheat  the  lad  out  of 
the  profit  and  honor  it  is  going  to  bring  him.  He 
is  doing  fine.  Let  him  alone,  you  two  unreason 
able  women,  you!  Your  cup  is  full.  Why  will 
you  want  it  to  run  over,  specially  when  the  wastry 
will  be  just  Alan  and  Alan's  future?  No;  you  be 
to  bide  the  right  time.  I  will  not  set  you  a  wrong 
time  to  Alan's  loss.  Not  I !" 

The  next  morning  Flora  said  at  the  breakfast 
table,  "I  am  going  to  see  Ian  Macrae.  He  will  be 
glad  to  rejoice  with  us,  I  know." 

"But  he  left  for  Morandaroch  yesterday,"  said 
the  provost. 

"That  is  so,"  added  Mrs.  Mackenzie.  "I  for 
got  to  tell  you,  Flora,  that  he  called  to  see  you  on 
Wednesday  when  you  were  away  with  Jean 
Laird." 

"Well,  then,  we  shall  meet  soon  at  Moranda 
roch." 

"I  hope  so,"  continued  the  provost,  "but  he  is 


298  Souls  of  Passage 

very  sick,  'just  waiting  to  be  dissolved,'  he  says. 
And  his  heart  could  not  be  satisfied  wanting  the 
old  home,  and  the  sound  of  the  sea  at  its  doors.  'I 
shall  be  going  out  of  the  gate  I  came  in  by,  if  it  be 
God's  will,'  he  said ;  'I  am  thinking  it  will  be  the 
widest  and  the  easiest.' ' 

"Had  he  heard  from  Fame  lately?" 

"Not  for  three  weeks,  but  he  was  making  no 
complaint  about  that.  'She  has  gone  to  her  own 
kindred,'  he  said  to  me;  'she  has  gone  home.  I 
am  not  doubting  it  a  moment.' ' 

"It  is  well  he  can  comfort  himself  with  such 
thoughts,"  said  Mrs.  Mackenzie.  "I  am  not 
understanding  the  like." 

"It  is  his  belief  that  Fame  came  to  him  for  in 
struction,  and  that  the  seed  sown  by  Ian  Macrae 
will  grow  and  flourish  and  spread  far  and  wide 
among  the  Grants  and  others.  He  counts  little  of 
his  own  love  and  care,  and  thinks,  perhaps,  Fame's 
spirit  could  find  no  other  or  no  better  way  back  to 
Grant  than  through  the  heart  and  home  of  Ma 
crae  ;  and  if  so,  it  was  God's  way,  and  so  then  God 
bless  her.  He  is  an  unselfish  soul  as  any  I  ever 
met  or  even  imagined." 

"Say  that  he  is  right,  yet  Fame  has  no  call  to 
forget  the  wise,  tender  old  man  who  loves  her  so 
much." 

"She  has  only  forgotten  for  a  little  while,"  said 


Fame  is  Married  299 

Flora,  "and  just  at  this  time  much  may  be  for 
given  her." 

"Perhaps  she  will  hardly  forgive  herself  when 
it  is  too  late  to  make  atonement,"  said  the  provost. 
"Her  conscience — " 

"Conscience !    What  is  conscience,  uncle  ?" 

"My  dear  Flora,  it  is  nothing  else  and  nothing 
less  than  a  direct  message  from  our  divine  inner 
sufferer  and  prisoner.  It  is  the  power  within  us 
knowing  by  its  own  native  wisdom  the  right  and 
wrong  of  any  moral  question  we  are  doubtful 
about,  and  giving  judgment  instantaneously  and 
unmistakably  in  a  voice  so  low  it  may  easily  be 
stifled,  but  also  so  clear  that  it  is  impossible  to 
misunderstand  it." 

"I  remember  now  that  I  heard  Ian  Macrae  once 
say  that  when  conscience  speaks  then  the  soul  is 
before  the  tribunal  of  its  own  divinity;  and  that 
for  one  brief  moment  the  warning  or  directing 
voice  is  heard." 

"That  is  the  thought,  and  a  right  noble  one," 
answered  the  provost.  "I  wish  that  we  could  all 
live  to  it,  even  as  Ian  Macrae  does.  For  I  am 
sure  that  he  constantly  and  habitually  allows  his 
higher  inner  self  to  whisper  to  his  lower  mortal 
self  in  that  divine  voice  we  call  conscience.  Mo 
ment  by  moment  it  prompts  him  to  good  deeds, 
fills  his  heart  with  a  divine  compassion,  and  makes 


300  Souls  of  Passage 

all  his  aspirations  pure,  wise,  and  above  all,  unsel 
fish/' 

"We  could  not  do  it,  Robert.  Macrae  is  a  man 
by  himself." 

"We  ought  to  try  and  do  it,  Marian;  it  is 
the  very  task  set  every  human  soul,  for  it  is 
only  by  living  constantly  with  our  higher  self, 
and  yielding  a  loving,  willing  obedience  to 
its  commands,  that  our  struggling,  sinning, 
suffering  human  personality  becomes  one  with 
its  divine  author  and  so  at  last  wins  its  im 
mortality." 

"I  am  thinking,  Robert,  that  Dr.  Micklehose 
would  be  holding  a  kirk  session  over  you  if  he 
heard  the  words  you  were  just  saying." 

"He  would  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  Marian. 
Many  a  thought  comes  into  a  good  man's  heart 
and  head  he  does  not  cry  aloud  in  the  pulpit.  The 
doctor  and  I  have  had  many  spiritual  confidences 
— there  isn't  any  great  gulf  between  us — a  good 
man's  religion  goes  far  deeper,  and  higher,  and 
wider  than  his  creed." 

"Robert !  whatever  are  you  talking  about?" 

"I  am  only  saying  that  creeds  are  good  school 
masters  ;  and  all  of  us  need  to  go  to  school  at  the 
beginning  of  life ;  but  sooner  or  later,  if  this  world 
has  not  silenced  the  divine  man  within  us,  we  be 
gin  to  think  out  and  to  work  out  with  fear  and 
trembling,  but  yet  with  heavenly  hope,  what  the 


Fame  is  Married  301 

apostle  calls  'our  own  salvation.'  It  is  a  great 
thing,  Marian,  to  ask  with  the  jailer,  'What  shall 
I  do  to  be  saved  ?'  but  it  is  a  far  grander  thing  to 
ask  with  Paul,  'Lord,  what  wilt  thou  have  me  to 
do?"' 


CHAPTER  XII. 

ALAN    AND    FLORA. 

IN  a  short  time  the  Mackenzies  followed  Ian 
Macrae  to  Morandaroch.  Their  sail  was  a  very 
pleasant  one,  but  all  were  compelled  to  compare  it 
with  that  of  the  past  year.  Then  Jessie  and  Alan 
had  been  with  them ;  now  Jessie  was  married  and 
Alan  far  off  in  the  heat  and  hubbub  of  London. 
The  provost  did  his  best  to  supply  Alan's  place, 
but  one  personality  can  never  quite  stand  for  an 
other;  and  Flora  missed  Alan  continually.  She 
missed  him  more  at  fair  Dunbrack.  It  was  all 
well  to  send  for  architects  and  be  collecting 
granite  and  building  materials,  and  to  plan  and 
talk  over  the  enlargement  and  beautifying  of  the 
dear  old  place,  but  Flora  knew  that  nothing  would 
be  positively  decided  on  until  Alan  had  expressed 
his  wishes  and  his  opinions. 

She  had  always  felt  a  strong  attachment  to 
Dunbrack,  even  when  there  as  a  visitor ;  now  that 
it  was  her  very  own,  her  home,  as  it  had  been  the 


Alan  and   Flora  303 

home  of  her  kindred,  a  great  love  for  the  gray  old 
dwelling,  with  its  martial  courtyard  and  its  shad 
owy  garden,  took  possession  of  her.  She  had  a 
constant  sense  of  companionship  in  its  rooms,  and 
this  sense  was  sometimes  so  strong  that  she  felt 
the  very  presence  of  the  pictured  chiefs  and 
women  that  had  lived  in  them  before  her.  In  some 
occult  way,  also,  her  mind  was  impressed  by  them. 
Often  she  decided  on  the  changes  for  a  certain 
room,  and  then  felt  that  her  intentions  could  not 
be  carried  out.  There  was  no  sympathy  with 
them  from  those  beyond.  Nevertheless,  talk  and 
speculation  regarding  what  was  to  be  done  passed 
pleasantly  many  a  wet  day  and  many  a  quiet 
evening. 

The  provost  lingered  at  Dunbrack  far  beyond 
his  intention.  He  could  not  leave  his  friend  Ian, 
whose  soul — that  strange,  fluttering,  restless 
essence — was  ready  to  depart.  It  was  the  falling 
of  a  withered  leaf  whether  he  lived  or  died  from 
day  to  day — last  days  suffused  with  a  serene  and 
sacred  glow.  And  yet  withal  a  little  anxious — as 
those  going  a  long  journey  may  be — he  sat  in  the 
door  of  his  home,  waiting  for  the  King's  mes 
senger.  It  was  now  that  the  provost  noticed  many 
traits  in  his  friend  that  had  not  struck  him  be 
fore,  and  one  of  these  was  his  extreme  urbanity 
and  respect  for  the  poorest  and  most  ignorant  of 
the  men  and  women  with  whom  he  came  in  con- 


304  Souls  of  Passage 

tact.  It  was  so  remarkable  that  Mackenzie  could 
not  help  speaking  of  it  to  him,  and  Ian  lifted  his 
face,  and  the  fiery  flash  in  his  eyes  gave  to  the 
words  he  said  a  still  graver  import : 

"Robert!  my  friend  Robert,  the  poorest  fisher 
man  that  goes  out  in  his  boat  to  sea  is  having  a 
majestic  antiquity  that  we  must  respect.  If  you 
will  only  be  thinking  of  it,  how  wonderful  it  is ! 
For  far  off  in  the  eternal  mind  of  God  that  poor 
man  had  his  place  from  everlasting.  Before  the 
world  was  he  lay  there  with  God's  goodness  round 
about  him,  the  object  of  a  transcending,  unfath 
omable  love.  Yes,  indeed!  so  long  as  there  has 
been  a  God,  so  long  has  that  man's  soul  been  the 
object  of  God's  knowledge  and  care.  It  will  be 
no  wonder,  then,  that  God  is  so  patient  with  sin 
ning  souls ;  no  wonder  that  He  thought  them  wor 
thy  of  the  incarnation  of  His  only  begotten  son 
Jesus  Christ." 

"You  make  the  love  of  God  a  very  near  thing, 
Ian." 

"I  am  not  making  it  more  than  it  is,  Robert. 
Nearer  to  God  are  we  than  to  our  father  and 
mother.  He  besets  us,  guards  us  behind  and  be 
fore  ;  and  we  can  never  get  away  from  the  home« 
of  His  right  hand." 

"Yet  how  constantly  we  disobey  and  grieve 
Him!" 


Alan  and  Flora  305 

"There  will  be  one  thing  that  grieves  Him  most 
of  all — it  is  when  we  deliberately  look  His  com 
mandments  in  the  face,  and  then  break  them.  Ah, 
that  is  a  great  sin  against  a  great  love !  Think  of 
it,  Robert!  He  is  bidding  His  angels  rejoice,  not 
because  He  has  made  a  new  world,  but  because 
one  sinful  man  or  woman  has  come  repenting  to 
His  loving  heart  to  be  forgiven.  Oh,  the  height, 
and  depth,  and  length,  and  breadth  of  such  divine, 
abounding  love!" 

"If  we  are  partakers  of  this  divine  love,  Ian,  it 
must  surely  show  itself  in  our  lives,  but  how  shall 
we  know  it?" 

"Always  we  can  be  knowing  it  by  one  thing, 
Robert — the  overflowing  of  ourselves  upon 
others.  This  is  the  divine  side  of  love,  not  what 
we  are  doing  for  ourselves,  but  what  we  are  doing 
for  others." 

"Ah,  Ian,  but  when  a  man  is  in  the  world,  and 
doing  the  business  of  the  world,  how  can  he  take 
counsel  of  the  eternal?  Business,  science,  and 
many  other  things  must  claim  his  care  and  atten 
tion." 

"Well,  then,  Robert,  there  is  no  human  occupa 
tion  that  is  not  awful  and  sacred  when  you  think 
of  it  in  its  relation  to  what  is  to  be  hereafter.  You 
are  day  by  day  sowing  in  this  incarnation  what 
you  will  be  reaping  in  your  next  one.  So,  then, 


306  Souls  of  Passage 

whatever  your  business  or  your  occupation,  it  is 
the  work  given  you  to  do,  your  task  in  the  days  of 
your  vanity.  Whether  it  be  ruling  a  city,  or  plant 
ing  a  field,  or  casting  the  net  and  the  line,  or  serv 
ing  an  unjust  master,  it  is  your  task,  your  discip 
line,  and  can  be  wrought  in  such  a  way  as  to  gain 
our  good  Master's  'well  done,'  and  also  His  dis-. 
tinct  advancement  from  the  use  of  one  talent  to 
three — to  five — to  ten  talents — for  you  will  be 
noticing  that  the  promotion  as  taught  in  Jesus 
Christ's  parable  is  according  to  what  we  do  with 
the  talents — that  is,  with  the  opportunities — given 
us." 

"But  a  man  must  take  pleasure  in  his  work, 
give  his  mind  to  it,  how  else  could  he  do  it  prop 
erly?" 

"Yes,  indeed!  Diligent  in  business,  rejoicing 
in  his  works — if  they  be  lawful  and  good  works — 
that  is  the  command;  but  you  will  be  doing  no 
work  the  worse  for  remembering  that  the  smallest 
thing  you  do  has  an  eternal  significance.  If  you 
do  what  is  right,  you  will  know  it;  if  you  do 
wrong,  the  unfallen  angel  within  you  will  not  fail 
to  bear  witness  of  your  sin;  and  if  you  will  be 
listening  to  that  voice  it  is  not  far  out  of  the  right 
road  you  will  be  going,  Robert." 

It  was  a  strange  thing  to  go  at  this  time  into 
the  lonely  dwelling  of  Macrae,  and  see  and  feel 
how  the  departure  of  one  soul  had  affected  it. 


Alan  and  Flora  307 

When  Fame  dwelt  there,  her  very  presence  had 
thrown  a  glamour  over  the  worn  furniture,  and 
faded  hangings,  and  dim  pictures.  No  one  no 
ticed  them  as  shabby;  they  seemed  a  very  fitting 
background  for  the  girl's  bright  beauty  and  vivac 
ity;  but  the  pale,  grave  man  in  their  midst  lent 
them  nothing  by  contrast,  and  their  dull,  out 
worn  look  was  pathetically  in  keeping  with  his 
perilously  delicate,  almost  luminous  face,  and  the 
frail,  lucid  body,  which  looked,  indeed,  as  if  it 
had  already  been  clothed  with  that  spiritual  body 
of  which  we  have  such  blessed  revelation.  No  one 
now  thought  of  material  surroundings  in  Ian  Ma 
crae's  presence ;  for  this  world  lay  at  his  feet  like  a 
cast-off  sandal. 

Coming  from  his  house  one  evening,  the  pro 
vost  met  Peter  McDuff.  There  had  been  nothing 
on  Mackenzie's  part  that  might  interrupt  the 
courtesy  which  their  business  relations  had  neces 
sitated;  and  Mackenzie  was,  moreover,  under  the 
spell  of  Macrae's  teaching;  he  offered  his  hand 
frankly,  and  Peter  was  too  wise  to  refuse  it. 

"How  is  our  friend  ?"  he  asked.  "I  am  hearing 
from  more  than  one  that  he  is  not  long  for  this 
world.  It  will  be  hard  for  him  to  leave  it  just  as 
soon  as  he  had  got  out  of  the  trouble  and  the  care 
of  it." 

"He  does  not  feel  it  hard,"  answered  Macken 
zie;  "to  die  is  gain  for  Macrae." 


308  Souls  of  Passage 

"Just  so!  But  when  a  man  has  married  his 
daughter  and  paid  his  debts  he  sits  easy.  Well, 
well,  he  was  a  weakly  creature  these  past 
years,  though  strong  and  masterful  enough  in 
his  young  days.  How  is  the  new  Lady  of  Dun- 
brack?  We  were  hearing  this  and  that  of  her 
great  fortune.  It  is  a  lying  world,  and  perhaps 
nothing  to  it." 

"Only  one  hundred  thousand  pounds  to  it,  and 
the  most  of  that  in  securities  bound  to  double 
themselves,"  answered  the  provost  a  little  proudly. 
"Miss  Dunbrack  is  a  very  great  heiress." 

"And  all  of  it  will  be  out  of  the  brain  of  Angus 
Dunbrack !  He  was  a  clever  laddie  when  he  was 
at  school.  He  could  best  any  of  us,  even  in  them 
days." 

"Yet  he  thought  you  bested  him  about  Dun- 
brack." 

"I  am  knowing  it.  He  was  a  suspicious  crea 
ture.  A  man  has  to  be  careful  if  he  would  make 
money.  This  is  a  hard  world,  and  very  few 
manage  to  get  their  own  share  of  the  land,  and  the 
gold,  and  the  honor  of  it.  You'll  be  giving  my 
compliments  to  the  young  lady.  My  son  Shaw 
will  be  rejoicing  with  her.  He  has  been  in  Edin 
burgh.  It  was  only  last  night  he  got  home, 
and  it  was  he  that  was  bringing  the  news  with 
him.  I  was  doubting  it  myself,  but  am  glad  to 


Alan  and  Flora  309 

hear  it  is  true.  And  she  will  be  building,  I  see, 
and  making  improvements.  Just  so !  That  is  the 
way,  Mackenzie.  The  fathers  gather  the  gold  and 
the  children  scatter  it.  Just  so!  But  thanks  to 
the  Best !  I  have  a  son  that  is  no  spender." 

"Good-morning,  sir,"  replied  Mackenzie,  and 
the  uncomfortable  meeting  was  over. 

McDuff  had  kept  his  temper  through  it,  and 
he  congratulated  himself  on  the  circumstance; 
but  he  showed  no  such  self-control  when  he  en 
tered  the  parlor  of  his  home  and  found  Shaw  sit 
ting  there,  reading  a  novel. 

"You're  a  braw,  braw  lad,"  he  cried  contemptu 
ously,  "to  be  letting  two  rich  lasses  slip  through 
your  fingers.  I'm  sick  and  ashamed  of  you !  Do 
now  what  you  say,  and  take  up  with  the  law ;  the 
women  are  over  many  for  you.  Here  is  that  girl 
of  Angus  Dunbrack's  with  one,  yes  two,  hundred 
thousand  pounds  in  her  hand,  and  you  couldn't 
win  the  hand  with  such  a  fee  in  it !  And  there 
was  Fame  Macrae,  that  you  let  Grant  steal  away 
from  you !  Read  your  novels.  If  you  can't  make 
love,  you  can  read  how  other  men  were  making 
it.  I'm  fairly  ashamed  of  you !" 

"Keep  your  temper,  father.  It  is  neither  wise 
nor  healthy  for  a  man  as  old  as  you  are  to  be  giv 
ing  way  to  passion;  you  will  be  having  a  fever, 
and  then  doctor's  bills,  and  what  not." 


3 1  o  Souls  of  Passage 

"One  hundred  thousand  pounds — growing  to 
two  hundred  thousand." 

"I  am  not  believing  a  word  of  it." 

"You  were  seeing  it  yourself  in  the  Edinburgh 
papers." 

"Newspapers  lie." 

"Mackenzie  himself  was  telling  me  the  same 
thing,  and  that  not  twenty  minutes  ago." 

"Very  clever  in  Mackenzie  to  keep  such  news  to 
himself  and  his  son.  Remember  that  it  was  you 
that  made  inquiries,  and  were  told  that  Miss  Dun- 
brack  had  three  hundred  a  year.  Blame  yourself. 
Indeed,  I  may  well  blame  you,  for  I  could  have 
loved  that  girl  without  a  penny  piece;  and  there 
was  a  time  when  I  could  have  won  her.  Blame 
yourself,  father.  As  for  that  young  scoundrel 
Alan—" 

"Mind  what  you  are  saying,  Shaw.  There  are 
words  that  will  be  costing  more  than  you  can 

afford — sc and  the  rest  of  the  letters  is  an 

actionable  word." 

"Alan  Mackenzie  is  a — " 

"Sc !  Say  so.  But  what  will  you  be 

making  by  saying  it?  And  what  will  you 
be  losing?  Robert  Mackenzie  has  the  fight 
in  him,  and  I  am  not  doubting  but  that  he 
will  handle  the  law  as  cleverly  as  his  father  did  the 
dirk." 

"Is  the  young  cub  here  ?" 


Alan  and  Flora  3 1 1 

"I  am  not  knowing.  Hamish  will  find  that  out 
for  you." 

"He  need  not.  I  shall  go  back  to  Edinburgh. 
There  is  a  good  card  in  my  hand,  but  I  must  play 
it  in  Edinburgh." 

"A  good  card !    What  is  it,  Shaw  ?" 

"I  shall  not  tell  you  just  yet  what  it  is.  Secrecy 
is  the  mother  of  success." 

"A  good  card !    A  ten  of  diamonds,  Shaw  ?" 

"Say  a  queen." 

"Good  boy !  Good  boy !  Any  man  of  sense  will 
be  telling  you  that  it  is  as  easy  to  love  a  rich 
woman  as  a  poor  one.  I  was  sorely  left  to  myself 
one  summer  day,  and  I  married  for  beauty — I 
have  been  rueing  it  ever  since." 

"Sir,  my  mother  was  a  lady." 

"Right,  Shaw,  she  was.  And  she  has  gone  to 
a  better  world.  And  if  you  have  a  good  card  in 
Edinburgh,  go  there  and  play  it." 

"I  am  going.  Say  to  any  one  asking  after  me 
I  have  gone  on  business  of  my  own.  I  shall  not 

stop  in  Morandaroch  to  have  that  young  sc 

Mackenzie  pass  me  with  his  dropped  eyes  and  air 
of  contempt — and  the  heiress  he  has  played  for  on 
his  arm.  I  hope  Shaw  McDuff  knows  enough  to 
leave  a  field  he  has  lost." 

A  few  days  after  this  conversation  the  provost 
received  a  letter  which  appeared  to  give  him  some 
anxiety.  "I  ought  to  go  to  Glasgow  to-night, 


312  Souls  of  Passage 

Marian,"  he  said,  "there  is  some  business  I  should 
look  after  myself." 

"Is  Alan  in  it?" 

"Alan  has  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"Well,  then,  provost,  you  be  to  stay  right  here. 
I  am  not  going  to  be  left — Flora  and  me — two  lone 
women,  and  not  a  man  on  the  place,  if  robbers 
should  come,  as  it  is  likely  they  would.  There  is 
no  business  more  important  than  myself  and 
Flora.  We  just  can't  and  won't  be  left,  and  that 
is  the  sum  total  of  the  matter." 

"What  do  you  say,  Flora?"  asked  the  provost, 
turning  to  the  lovely  woman  standing  at  the  open 
window.  And  then  Flora  said  a  few  very  unex 
pected  words : 

"I  say,  father,  that  we  could  be  left  easily  and 
safely  if  you  would  send  for  Alan  to  take  your 
place." 

"That  is  it !"  cried  Mrs.  Mackenzie.  "That  is 
just  it !  Send  for  Alan  in  your  place,  Robert,  and 
we  can  be  left  well  enough.  Flora,  you  are  a  wise 
young  woman.  If  you  were  a  man,  I  would  say 
you  were  a  very  Daniel.  Now,  provost,  you  have 
got  your  ultimatum." 

"I  said  I  would  not  send  for  Alan  till  the  year's 
end.  He  has  just  finished  as  fine  a  piece  of  busi 
ness  in  our  Turkish  trade  as  any  man  in  London 
could  have  accomplished.  Can't  you  let  him  alone 


Alan  and  Flora  313 

when  he  is  doing  well?  You  are  never  satisfied. 
I  hope  I  may  be  allowed  to  keep  my  word;  my 
word  is  of  some  consequence  to  me." 

"Your  word  and  the  Turkish  trade  is  not  every 
good  thing  in  life,  Robert.  We  just  cannot  and 
will  not  be  left  in  this  sequestered-like  place;  it 
wouldn't  be  kind  or  right.  It  would  be  a  thing  to 
make  a  story  of.  I  will  never  submit  to  it." 

"You  see,  father,"  continued  Flora,  "there  is 
an  idea  that  my  fortune  is  in  gold  pieces,  and  that 
there  are  boxes  and  boxes  of  them  hid  in  the  castle. 
And  really  I  am  at  my  wit's  end  about  my  letters, 
Last  Saturday  I  had  to  write  from  morning  to 
night,  so  that  I  might  not  break  the  Sabbath  Day ; 
and  the  tables  are  full  of  designs  and  estimates, 
and  how  can  I  decide  on  any  course  until  Alan 
comes  ?  It  would  be  an  insult  to  him.  If  I  should 
do  so,  he  is  just  the  man  to  bid  me  'good-by,'  and 
I  would  not  respect  him,  if  he  did  not.  We  ought 
to  have  things  settled  as  soon  as  possible.  I  want 
the  work  begun,  and  so  does  mother;  don't  you, 
dear?" 

"Of  course  I  do.  Any  one  in  their  five  senses 
would  want  it  begun." 

"And  we  cannot  begin  without  Alan,  can  we, 
mother?" 

"Nobody  with  any  heart  in  their  bosom  would 
think  of  such  a  thing." 


3 1 4  Souls  of  Passage 

"And  Alan  ought  to  be  written  for  at  once  ?" 
"This  very  hour." 

"You  see,  father,  what  it  comes  to.  If  we  talk 
until  to-morrow  it  will  not  come  to  anything  dif 
ferent.  Dear  father,"  kissing  him,  "won't  you 
write  for  Alan  ?" 

"My  dear  lassie,  I  will  not  writ  for  Alan,  but  I 
cannot  hinder  you  from  writing  any  letter  you 
like." 

"I  said  I  would  not  write.  Is  not  my  word  as 
important  as  yours  ?" 

"No — o,  I  think  it  is  not.  A  woman  is  allowed 
by  use  and  custom  certain  privileges  in  matters  of 
love  and  marriage,  and  to  say  no  for  yes,  and  yes 
for  no,  and  I  won't  for  I  will,  and  I  will  for  I 
won't,  is  one  of  them.  Your  mother  has  practised 
this  kind  of  logic  on  me  ever  since  I  knew  her.  I 
never  take  her  to  task  for  it,"  and  rising 
with  these  words  and  kissing  his  wife,  he  went 
quickly  out  of  the  room,  and  so  put  an  end  to  the 
argument. 

"You  will  write,  Flora?" 

"I  will  think  about  it,  mother." 

"Listen  to  your  heart,  Flora,  and  think  of  the 
poor  lad  in  the  heat,  and  fogs,  and  noise,  and  sick 
ness,  and  work,  and  worry  of  London  in  this 
weather;  and  the  grouse  ready  to  eat,  and  the 
heather  in  bloom,  and  the  red  deer  lying  upon  the 
mountains.  I  could  not  help  crying  this  very 


Alan  and  Flora  315 

morning  when  I  went  through  the  hall  and  saw 
his  shooting  cap  hanging  on  the  rack  and  his  rid 
ing  whip  lying  so  naturally  across  it.  And  there's 
his  dog,  too.  Whenever  I  see  the  creature  he  is 
looking  at  me  with  the  same  question  in  his  eyes, 
'When  is  he  coming  home?'  Oh,  Flora,  you  be  to 
write,  my  dear.  If  you  love  me,  you  be  to  write  to 
Alan  and  bring  him  home." 

The  end  of  such  loving,  eager  pleading  may 
be  easily  divined.  It  came  even  sooner  than  either 
Flora  or  Mrs.  Mackenzie  had  thought  possible; 
for  after  a  careful  consideration  of  all  circum 
stances,  they  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  must 
be  Monday  night  before  he  could  reach  Dunbrack, 
even  if  all  events  worked  together  for  that  end. 
So  they  set  their  heart  on  Monday,  and  the 
good  news  was  spread  through  the  house  and 
the  village,  and  even  the  dog  in  his  lonely 
kennel  heard  it,  and,  perhaps,  better  than  any 
one  understood  the  precise  time  of  Alan's 
home-coming.  For  on  Sabbath  morning  he  was. 
so  loud  and  insistent  that  the  provost  ordered  him 
to  be  set  free.  "He  is  sick,"  he  said,  "and 
if  loosed  will  go  to  the  hills  and  find  the  medicine 
he  wants." 

But  he  did  not  go  to  the  hills,  for  as  the  family 
were  driving  to  church  they  met  him  on  the  way. 
He  was  told  to  go  back  home,  but  he  only  went 
behind  the  carriage ;  and  very  soon  his  loud  bark 


3 1 6  Souls  of  Passage 

of  joy  and  his  frantic  bound  forward  revealed 
what  he  was  waiting  on  the  road  for.  Alan  was 
there,  and  in  another  moment  the  happy  man  was 
in  the  carriage,  and  the  equally  happy  women 
were  looking  into  his  handsome  face  and  clasping 
his  hands. 

"I  am  neither  hungry  nor  thirsty  nor  dusty, 
mother,"  he  said,  when  she  proposed  to  return 
home  with  him,  "and  I  want  to  go  to  kirk.  It  is 
just  the  place  I  want  to  go." 

This  meeting,  controlled  by  the  reticences  of  the 
Scotch  Sabbath  and  the  Scotch  character,  was  not 
by  any  means  a  demonstrative  one ;  but  the  speech 
is  so  little,  and  the  eyes  are  so  eloquent,  and  the 
clasp  of  the  hand  is  so  eloquent,  that  in  a  moment 
or  two,  without  any  spoken  words,  all  was  under 
stood  and  all  forgiven.  He  went  into  the  kirk  at 
Flora's  side,  they  sang  from  the  same  psalm 
book,  they  knelt  clasping  each  other's  hand,  and 
in  that  sweetly  solemn  communion  renewed 
with  tenderest  thoughts  the  vows  that  the  moon 
and  the  silver  brook  had  witnessed  more  than  a 
year  before. 

Dunbrack  was  now  the  home  of  the  purest  and 
highest  happiness,  and  the  provost  could  not  leave 
it.  He  sent  the  very  thought  of  business  packing. 
There  was  too  much  joy  to  run  away  from,  and  he 
counted  not  the  cost  of  staying.  Besides,  he  really 


"  THEY   SANG  J-'KOM   THE   SAME   1'SALM   BOOK," 


Alan  and  Flora  317 

thought  himself  necessary  to  his  two  dear  children 
at  this  time.  In  the  glory  of  their  renewed  love 
they  had  such  extravagant  views  of  life,  they 
would  have  built  a  palace  in  those  wild  hills. 
Their  ideas  of  home  were  so  splendid,  their  pur 
poses  so  wide,  their  hopes  and  plans  for  the  future 
so  glorified  by  love  as  to  be  quite  prodigal  and 
even  impracticable.  But  it  was  all  the  purest  de 
light,  and  the  provost  and  his  wife  lived  over  the 
joy  of  their  own  love-making  in  the  gladness  of 
their  son's  most  fortunate  espousals. 

After  two  weeks  of  charming  planning  and 
consultations  the  provost  resolved  to  return  to 
Glasgow,  but  was  detained  at  the  last  moment  by  a 
message  from  Macrae.  He  never  hesitated,  but 
went  straight  to  his  friend.  He  found  him  at  the 
very  gate  of  heaven,  smiling,  serene,  full  of  ra 
diant  hope ;  his  voice  sweet  and  hollow,  like  muf 
fled  music  from  some  mysterious  distance ;  and  on 
his  face 

"the  look  of  one 
To  whom  glad  news  is  sent 
From  the  far  country  of  his  home 
After  long  banishment." 

Lying  there  on  the  border  of  being,  where  life 
hardly  draws  breath,  he  clasped  Mackenzie's  hand 
and  said,  "Stay  with  me  now,  Robert!"  and  oh, 


318  Souls  of  Passage 

the  clinging,  tremulous  gentleness  in  the  pleading 
words ! 

"Unto  death,  dear  Ian,  I  am  here." 

"Men  do  not  die.  We  shall  not  all  sleep,  but 
we  shall  all  be  changed."* 

"You  are  content  to  go,  Ian  ?" 

"I  am  like  the  pilgrim,  'I  feel  the  bottom,  and  it 
is  good.'  I  am  only  returning  the  divine  part  of 
me  to  the  Divine  who  gave  it." 

"And  then?" 

"The  sun  that  knows  its  setting  will  know  its 
rise  again.  I  am  feeling  already  through  this 
poor,  perishing  flesh  shoots  of  my  immortality." 

"And  you  have  no  fear  ?" 

"Fear  is  lost  in  faith.  I  die  that  I  may  be  born. 
If  I  did  not  know  that  I  should  be  a  most  forlorn 
pilgrim.  I  was  once  reading  of  a  great  viking 
who  asked  a  wise  man,  'What  is  life?'  And  the 
wise  man  answered,  'It  is  like  a  bird  that  flies  out 

*Apart  from  Macrae's  invincible  faith  in  immortality,  it 
is  to  be  noted  that  Highlanders  never  speak  of  the  departed 
as  "dead."  Dr.  Stewart  says,  in  his  "West  Highlands," 
that  he  gave  great  offence  by  asking  the  daughter  of  a 
friend,  "When  did  your  father  die?"  "Brutes  alone,"  she 
answered  angrily,  "die,  and  when  they  die  are  dead.  Human 
beings  do  not  die,  and  are  not  to  be  spoken  of  as  dead. 
They  depart,  they  go,  they  change,  they  sleep,  if  you  like, 
but  they  don't  die  and  can  never  be  spoken  of  as  dead." 
The  phraseology  in  which  the  death  of  human  beings,  as 
distinct  from  brutes,  as  expressed  in  Gaelic,  invariably  im 
plies  continued  existence. 


Alan  and  Flora  319 

of  the  dark  through  a  hall  full  of  light,  out  into 
the  darkness  again.'  Oh,  no!  We  are,  indeed, 
souls  of  passage,  but  we  know  whence  we  come 
and  where  we  are  going.  It  is  not  out  of  the  dark 
and  into  the  dark.  We  come  from  God,  who  is 
our  home;  He  guides  us  through  the  lighted  hall 
of  life,  and  brings  us  safely  back  to  Himself. 
They  who  have  loved  the  Father  of  their  spirits  in 
life  will  be  rinding  no  difficulty  in  going  to  Him 
when  life  is  over.  But  not  alone  shall  I  go ;  there 
are  friends  waiting  for  me ;  they  will  see  that  I  do 
not  tarry  or  tremble  through  boundless  space  and 
countless  constellations."  These  words,  spoken 
with  long  intervals  and  ever-increasing  weakness, 
were  very  near  the  last.  Just  before  dawn  he 
cried  with  a  strange,  glad  strength,  "I  am  going 
now — I  have  long  been  eager  for  rest."  A  solemn 
pallor  spread  over  his  face,  a  dying  breath  flut 
tered  through  the  room,  and  Ian  was  gone — gone 
away  farther  than  human  thought  could  follow 
him.  A  sudden  feeling  of  alienation,  a  sense  of 
incalculable  distance  was  now  between  them,  and 
Mackenzie  was  keenly  sensitive  to  it;  but  he 
waited  until  the  great  silence  and  the  unchanging 
outline  beneath  the  coverlet  told  him  visibly  the 
truth  of  their  separation. 

The  sun  was  then  shining  brightly,  the  ocean 
breaking  solemnly  almost  at  the  threshold;  there 
were  some  fishermen  just  putting  out  to  sea,  and 


320  Souls  of  Passage 

there  was  a  faint  sound  of  rowers  striking  the 
waves  in  harmony;  but  around  and  above  all  a 
sense  of  noble  repose  that  was  not  of  this  world. 
Walking  thoughtfully  through  the  village,  he  met 
Shaw  McDuff  driving  in  a  very  splendid  carriage 
with  a  handsome,  middle-aged  woman.  Then  he 
remembered  that  Peter  had  been  boasting  round 
the  countryside  that  "his  son  Shaw  was  going  to 
marry  a  widow  lady  whose  money  could  not  be 
counted  by  the  ordinar  tables  of  addition;  more 
over,  a  lady  of  the  noble  family  of  Farquarson." 
And  though  Mackenzie's  heart  was  beating  to  the 
most  tender  and  solemn  thoughts,  he  looked  at  the 
lady  and  at  the  haughty  young  man  reclining  at 
her  side,  and  knew  that,  for  once,  Peter's  boasting 
had  truth  in  it.  And  this  strange  meeting  of 
death  and  life  moved  him  very  much,  and  he  was 
thinking  of  it  and  of  two  lines  of  Milton's,  which 
Macrae  had  once  quoted  to  him  on  some  such  oc 
casion  : 

"What  if  earth  be  but  the  shadow  of  heaven  and  things 

therein, 
Each  to  the  other  like  more  than  on  earth  is  thought?" 

when  he  met  Alan  coming  down  the  mountain. 
"He  is  gone,  father?" 
"Yes." 
"At  what  time  ?" 


Alan  and  Flora  321 

"I  do  not  know.  He  was  here,  and  when  I 
looked  again  his  soul  had  flitted  away.  Good 
men  dying  whisper  to  their  souls  to  go,  and  they 
vanish  from  bodies  unseen.  Macrae  has  now 
'tasted  of  the  powers  of  the  world  to  come/  ' 

"I  had  a  long  talk  with  him  two  days  ago,  but 
I  wish  now  that  I  had  called  yesterday." 

"You  had  a  long  talk?  What  did  he  say  to 
you?" 

"He  spoke  of  the  happiness  that  had  come  into 
my  life,  and  asked  me  what  I  was  going  to  do  with 
it  ?  Then  I  told  him  all  Flora's  and  my  own  plans 
for  the  good  of  the  people  around  us,  and  he  asked 
again,  'But  for  yourself,  what  ?'  And  I  said  I  was 
going  to  read  the  classics  carefully  and  study 
chemistry,  because  I  had  a  great  wish  to  find  out 
some  of  its  secrets.  And  he  answered  me 
strangely." 

"How  did  he  answer  you  ?" 

"He  told  me  to  remember  that  my  higher  self 
was  'clothed  in  a  coat  of  skin,'  and  'crucified  in 
the  bonds  of  the  flesh,'  and  that  the  most  brilliant 
intellectuality  would  not  remove  me  from  the 
animal  plane  to  the  safety  of  spiritual  existence. 
He  told  me  that  the  personal  ego  depended  on  the 
higher  for  its  promise  of  eternal  life.  He  told  me 
I  must  develop  spiritually  as  well  as  mentally,  and 
so  illume  this  daily  life  with  unselfish  deeds  that 


322  Souls  of  Passage 

it  would  remain  throughout  eternal  years  a  pleas 
ant  memory  to  my  higher  self."* 
f  ''That  is  all  logical,  Alan;  for  animal  causes 
cannot  be  followed  by  spiritual  effects — the  stream 
cannot  rise  higher  than  its  source.  What  else, 
Alan?" 

''He  told  me  that  my  higher  self  overshadowed 
my  personal  self,  and  continually  struggled  to  pen 
etrate  and  illumine  its  darkness,  and  that,  there 
fore,  it  was  my  first  and  greatest  duty  to  help  in 
this  birth  and  growth  of  spiritual  life  by  yielding 
a  willing  and  loving  obedience  and  by  treasuring 
every  glimmering  ray  of  divine  light,  even  though 
it  took  the  form  of  pain  or  rebuke.  He  told  me  to 
do  this  with  confidence  and  hope,  because  no  effort 
is  lost;  and  that  soul  force,  like  other  forms  of 
force,  is  always  conserved.  And  there  was  one 
thing  he  said  to  me  as  I  bade  him  farewell  that  I 
shall  never  forget — 'Remember,  Alan,  that  this 
soul,  this  higher  self  of  yours,  is  like  a  white  bird 
in  your  breast.  You  must  carry  it  through  a  sin- 

*This  thought  has  been  thus  well  expressed  by  a  late 
poet: 

"If  thou  art  base  and  earthly,  then  despair  ; 

Thou  art  but  mortal  as  the  brute  that  falls. 
Birds  weave  their  nests,  the  lion  finds  a  lair, 

Man  builds  his  halls — 
These  are  but  coverts  from  earth's  war  and  storm, 

Homes  where  our  lesser  lives  take  shape  and  breath  ; 
But  if  no  heavenly  man  has  grown — what  form 
Clothes  thee  at  death?" 


Alan  and  Flora  323 

ful,  crowded,  impure  world ;  oh,  take  care  of  the 
bird  in  your  breast !  When  the  time  of  your  de 
parture  comes,  let  it  go  free  with  unsullied 
wings.' ' 

They  were  now  approaching  Dunbrack,  and 
both  father  and  soon  looked  at  the  gray  pile  and 
the  vast  amount  of  material  prepared  for  its 
renovation.  The  father  put  his  hand  on  his 
son's  shoulder  and  stayed  his  steps.  "Alan,"  he 
said,  "you  are  a  very  happy  man,  fortunate  and 
happy." 

"I  am,  father.    I  feel  it." 

"When  are  you  to  be  married?" 

"Flora  has  fixed  on  some  day  about  Christmas 
time." 

"Then  you  will  be  married  in  Glasgow  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  in  Glasgow." 

"I  am  glad  of  it.  Your  mother  was  so  much 
disappointed  about  the  simplicity  of  Jessie's  mar 
riage." 

"Mother  is  to  have  all  her  way  about  our 
marriage.  She  and  Flora  have  arranged  all  to 
please  themselves,  and  I  surely  think  the  invita 
tions  will  fill  the  old  Ram's  Horn  Kirk.  Of  course, 
James  is  to  assist  Dr.  Micklehose.  Mother  is  de 
termined  to  have  a  ceremony  worthy  of  the  bride 
and  her  great  fortune — and  also  of  you  and  of 
your  honorable  position,  dear  father." 

"She  is  right,  Alan.     I  am  with  mother  in  her 


324  Souls  of  Passage 

desire.     You  have  every  cause  to  be  proud  and 
happy  in  your  bride — and  you  love  her,  Alan?" 

"More  than  I  can  say,  sir.    I  loved  her  when  I 
first  saw  her.    I  shall  love  her  forever." 

"It  is  a  soul  love,  then,  and  you  two  are  one." 
"We  two  together  shall  wear  through  the  ages, 
Flora  and  I.    I  look  for  no  long  parting  even  by 
death.    We  two,   Flora   and   I,   we   shall   wear 
through  the  ages  together." 


A  LITTLE  SEQUEL. 

THESE  events  happening  so  far  away  and  so 
long  ago  were  strangely  brought  to  the  remem 
brance  of  some  still  living  who  had  knowledge  of 
them  by  two  newspaper  paragraphs  which  ap 
peared  almost  at  the  same  date  in  the  year 
A.D.  1899.  The  first  was  a  biographical  notice  of 
the  death  of  Shaw  McDuff,  M.P.  for  Hotham.  It 
referred  briefly  to  his  birth  at  Morandaroch,  his 
creditable  passage  through  the  University  of  Glas 
gow,  and  his  marriage  to  the  widow  of  a  well- 
known  wealthy  banker.  And  after  enumerating 
the  various  political  and  social  clubs  of  which  he 
was  a  member,  the  many  companies  to  which  he 
gave  his  name  and  direction,  the  charities  he 
patronized,  his  dwellings  in  Surrey  and  London, 
and  his  fine  modern  castle  at  Morandaroch,  and 
his  notable  amount  of  public  spirit,  it  concluded 
thus: 

"Mr.  McDuff  was  in  the  House  on  Monday, 
where,  as  a  prominent  member  of  the  Opposition, 
he  assailed  with  his  usual  virulence  the  member 
for  Middleboro,  Mr.  Alan  Mackenzie,  who  re- 


326  Souls  of  Passage 

ceived  the  attack  with  the  serene  imperturbability 
which  is  customary  with  that  gentleman.  After 
his  philippic,  Mr.  McDuff  visited  the  Reform 
Club,  dined  with  a  number  of  his  party,  and  sub 
sequently  made  what  his  friends  consider  one  of 
the  finest  of  his  speeches  against  the  government. 
It  was  his  last  speech.  He  had  a  stroke  during  the 
night,  and  did  not  rally  from  it.  Mrs.  McDuff 
died  some  years  ago,  but  he  leaves  two  sons  to  in 
herit  his  great  wealth — Captain  Alexander  Mc 
Duff  of  the  Gordon  Highlanders  and  Walter  Mc 
Duff,  Q.C.,  a  well-known  member  of  the  Scottish 
Bar." 

It  was  easy  for  the  initiated  to  read  between 
these  lines  the  comfortable,  respectable  fortune  of 
Shaw  McDuff;  and  while  the  thoughts  evoked 
were  yet  fresh  in  memory,  another  notice  in  a 
London  society  paper  almost  completed  the  story 
of  the  lives  with  which  McDuff  had  been  asso 
ciated.  It  related  in  somewhat  glowing  colors,  as 
if  the  relation  was  personal  and  pleasant,  the  mar 
riage  of  the  Honorable  Sara  Dunbrack  Allison  to 
Cecil,  Earl  of  Loudan.  This  account  said  the 
marriage  took  place  at  Dunbrack  Castle,  and  the 
ceremony  was  performed  by  the  venerable  Dr. 
James  Laidlaw,  of  Glasgow;  the  bride,  whose 
parents  were  dead,  being  given  away  by  her 
grandfather,  Alan  Mackenzie,  M.P.  Following 
this  statement  was  a  long  list  of  noble  guests,  with 


A  Little  Sequel  327 

whom  this  story  has  nothing  to  do ;  but  in  this  list 
there  were  three  names  that  stood  out  with  the 
light  of  other  days  on  them — Lady  Euphamia 
Grant,  an  old  friend  of  the  family;  Mrs.  James 
Laidlazv,  the  great-aunt  of  the  bride,  and  Mrs. 
Alan  Mackenzie,  her  grandmother. 

So,  then,  after  fifty  years  Alan  and  Flora  were 
still  souls  of  passage,  winging  their  flight  together 
to  the  very  verge  and  shoal  of  life.  Had  they  kept 
the  white  bird  in  their  breasts  unsullied  as  they 
passed  through  the  city  and  the  wilderness?  If 
so,  then  surely  Alan's  prophecy  will  be  faithful 
and  true,  and  they  two  shall  wear  through  the 
ages  together. 


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